

Class JPSJLiiL^. 



Book.-JV-LX 


i\ov C^vVt' 

By bequest of 


William Lukens Shoemaker 





































































































































































































































• • . 


























POEMS 


OWEN INNSLY 









LOVE SONGS & 
OTHER POEMS 


By OWEN INNSLY 


I— Love Poems and Sonnets 

II— Miscellaneous 

III— From the Spanish of Gustavo Becquer 

(1836-1870) 



NEW YORK 
THE GRAFTON PRESS 

%. 



Copyright, 1882, by 
A. WILLIAMS & CO. 


% 

Copyright, 1902, by 

THE GRAFTON PRESS. 

Gift 

W. L. Shoemaker 
J S >06 


DEDICA TION. 


Mov’st thou , perchance , in strange and starry 
spheres 

Afar, beyond the impenetrable night 

That shrouds the tomb, smiling at the old fears 

Of death, encircled by all-conquering light ? 

Or dost thou sleep where thy last bed was made, 
Beneath the violets and the scented grass, 
Careless alike of sunshine and of shade, 

Of morns that linger and of eves that pass ? 

Ah! who shall say? No eye can pierce the dark, 
No strained ear tidings catch of weal or woe 
Out of the silence ; and no single spark 
Illumes that portal through which all must go. 
Yet this we know: Death is a kind of birth, 

And brings one sacred immortality; 

Thou live st in thy traces left on earth; 

Thou livest in thy children’s memory. 


And one of these, binding the varied dowers, 
With tinted petals and with shining leaves, 

Fall’n on his path in sad and happy hours, 

As one might bind the ripened corn in sheaves, 
Dear blossoms of the heart and brain, — such 
sprays 

And blooms as wither not, but nod and wave 
Forever, — the completed garland lays 
With loving hands upon thy quiet grave. 


vi 


PAGE V 


CONTENTS— PART I. 

Dedication 

Waiting 3 

Nature and Love 5 

Helen 8 

An Evening Ride ii 

Departure ' 13 

Cui Bono? 15 

A Dream of Death 17 

The Better Part 20 

Compensation . 22 

Gifts of the Gods 23 

Shadows 24 

A Rosary 25 

Helena’s Song 26 

Amor Leggiero 27 

Burnt Ships 28 

Outrb-Mort 29 

Light-Houses 30 

Laurels 31 

Jewels 32 

Liebesbittb 33 

My Queen 34 

“One Way of Love" 35 

Mortalis 36 

vii 


Thinh Eyes 

page 37 

Dependence 

38 

Submission 

39 

Love’s Calendar 

40 

Islands 

41 

Snow-Drops 

4-2 

Love’s Abode 

43 

Storm and Calm 

44 

Serving 

43 

The Burden of Love 

46 

A Simile 

47 

Blossoms of Love 

48 

The Whole of Love 

49 

Deprecation 

50 

Nepenthe 

5 1 

2'v 2 got r? p 

53 

In a Letter 

53 

Titles 

54 

After Absence 

55 

Bondage 

56 

Witch-Hazel 

57 

Calm 

58 

Symphonie Fantastique 

69 

Idem non Alithr 

60 

The Sleeping Beauty 

61 


Vlll 


Friendship and Love page 63 

The Troubadour 64 

“The Greek Youth” 65 

Wanderleben 66 

Her Roses 67 

At the Convent 68 

Faust and Helena 69 

Two Figures 71 

Service 72 

Communion 73 

PART II. 

Impatience 3 

Im Freien 4 

Musa Loquitur 5 

Wonders 7 

In Memoriam 9 

From Naples to Rome 12 

Giardino Giusti 14 

Fountains in Rome 15 

A Roma 17 

On the Pincian 19 

Aftermath 22 

Xaipe ! 24 

Schumann's Symphony in B Flat Major 25 

Joachim 26 


IX 


Rubinstein tags 27 

Chopin 28 

“Mein Tag war heiter, glucklich mbine Nacht” 29 

To R. W. E. 30 

Chaucbr 3 1 

At Sea 3 2 

A Voyage 34 

Kings 35 

Weaving 36 

A Shattered Glass 37 

Surplus 38 

Florence 39 

Rome after 1870 40 

To Rome 41 

Antinous of the Vaticaii 44 

A Bas-Relief 45 

Addio a Roma 46 

On Leaving Italy 47 

WlDMUNG 48 

Apologia 49 

To Poetry 51 

Propitiation 53 

A Prayer 55 

The Rosb~and the Statue 56 

BVB 57 


X 


Among the Lilies 

PAGE 6o 

Kprjzrjp ejiou 

62 

Song 

63 

Souvenir 

64 

Scherzo Amoroso 

65 

Song 

67 

Italian Volkslied 

68 

Miniatures 

69 

From the Russian 

72 

To Goethb 

73 

Indulgentia 

75 

Starward 

76 

On a Bicycle 

78 

To Robert Browning 

80 

Tantalus 

81 

After the Antique 


I. To Aphrodite 

86 

II. Three Shades 

90 

III. Thank Offering 

102 

Benediction 

109 

A Sea Song 

ZII 

A Suppliant 

ZZ 2 

Reseda 

113 

Thou Only 

ZI4 

Against the Bars 

US 


XI 


Could We but Meet 

PAGE 1 16 

You AND I 

117 

Coronation 

118 

Dream Love 

119 

IIa.(n6 

120 

Undivided 

121 

Rex Semper Amoris Gratia 

122 

The Choice 

123 

Saved 

124 

Nihil Humani, etc. 

125 

To Walt Whitman 

126 

To Shelley 

127 

What Might Have Been 

* 3 ° 

Mont Blanc 

* 3 * 

During Music 

132 

The Musicians 

133 

At Bogliasco 

134 

Skmpre Avanti Savora! 

135 

Parsifal 

136 

Deliverance 

137 

Requital 

*38 

Quand Memb 

139 


PART III. 


From the Spanish of Gustavo Becquer, 1836-1870 


PART I. 


LOVE POEMS AND SONNETS 


(xiii) 


* 






WAITING. 

T COUNT the days,— 

1 The lovely days, the weary days; 

From east to west they softly go, 

Silent and slow. 

Green is the earth 

With budding grass; the wondrous birth 
Of spring and hope, wide as it spreads, 

New glory sheds. 

The air is sweet. 

Here snowy petals strew the street ; 

Here lean against the garden-wall 
The lilacs tall. 

The cuckoo cries, 

And in his frequent note there lies 
The count of years where brain and nerve 
Must toil and serve.* 

* There is a German superstition that one who listens to the 
cuckoo will live as many years as he hears repetitions of the 
bird’s cry. 


3 


But youth is strong, 

And unappalled it fronts the long 
Array of days — which must be fair 
If thou art there — 

When I may learn 
My will to thine to bend and turn, 

To meet thy mood, and more and more 
Love and adore. 

The world is dear 
And good; I dare not shed a tear. 

I sing my songs of love and praise, 

And count the days. 

Drbsdbn, May , 1875. 


4 


NATURE AND LOVE. 

D AY after day I watch the fine 
Dividing line, 

Scarcely discerned, twixt sea and sky; 
Beneath me lie 

Smooth shining sands, and overhead 
Clear heavens outspread. 


Day after day, through balmy hours, 
I pluck the flowers 
From heavy-laden shrub and tree; 
The fleur-de-lis, 

Purple and tall, and blue-eyed grass 
Bloom where I pass. 


Often the wood-bird’s clear note rings, 

And insect wings 

Flit gay and glittering down the breeze; 

And gold-ringed bees 
Drink from a fragrant flower-cup 
Its sweet draughts up. 


5 


Here 'mid the scented pines I dream, 

Until I seem 

A monarch in an ancient time, — 

A time sublime, 

When earth gave all men, frank and free, 
What she gives me. 


But often, when the restless waves 
My light boat braves, 

A mariner destined to explore 
An unknown shore 
Am I. All day beneath the sun, 
My voyage begun, 


I sing glad songs of conquering men, 
Though silent when 
The moon her pale flame lights above, 
And crowned with love. 

What in that word I half express, 
Dost thou not guess ? 


6 


A dearer hope than nature gives 
Forever lives, 

Filling my soul. There floods my heart 
A joy apart 

From seas or flowers or glowing noons, 
Or suns or moons. 

Through all the glory and the grace 
I see thy face; 

In the waves* whisper, soft and clear, 
Thy voice I hear; 

Thy smile through every hour doth fall, 
And blesses all. 


7 


HELEN. 

W ITHOUT the walls of Troy the Grecian 
host, 

Encamped, lay, spent and weary with the fight. 
Eve after eve they watched the golden light 
Of suns whose splendors seemed to mock them 
most 

When most they prayed; for morn on morn they 
rose 

To suffer fresh defeats and bear new woes. 

They could not curse because she was so fair, 
The cause of all the ruin; but the bands 
Of heroes stretched to heaven beseeching hands, 
While wrung from lips grown pallid with de- 
spair, 

A cry arose throughout the camp’s domain, 
Reechoing far across the barren plain, 

Till all the midnight air 
One name did bear, — 

Helen! Helen! Helen! 


8 


Within the walls of Troy the fires blazed ^bright, 
And song and dance were gay, and wine flowed 
free, 

Where, flushed with joy and pride and victory, 
They held their revels far into the night, 

Nor paused to listen to the warning voice 
That bade them rather tremble than rejoice. 

But lifting high their wine-cups crowned with 
; flowers, 

“O loveliest lady of the land of Greece, 

Whose bright eyes, bringing glory, lead to peace, 
We drink to thee through all the happy hours,” 
They cried, and poured the crimson juices out, 
Pledging her deep and long with shout on shout, 
Till all the midnight air 
One name did bear, — 

Helen! Helen! Helen! 

Our hearts are battle-fields ; within them rage 
The conflicts that despair and doubt and pain 
With love and beauty and their countless train 
Of pleasures and of pomps forever wage. 


9 


Now Sorrow spreads her pall and claims the 
fight ; 

Now her pale hosts surrender to delight. 

But whether, tossing on mad waves of joy, 

I drink great draughts of rapture as of wine, 

Or, sunk beneath a chill and bitter brine, 

I lie the prey of every vile annoy, 

One image rules each smile, controls each sigh, 
And like the men of old to her I cry, 

Till all the midnight air 
One name doth bear, — 

Helen 1 Helen! Helen! 


io 


AN EVENING RIDE. 


t 

FROM GLASHUTTE TO MUGELN IN SAXONY. 

W E ride and ride. High on the hills 
The fir-trees stretch into the sky; 
The birches, which the deep calm stills 
Quiver again as we speed by. 

Beside the road a shallow stream 
Goes leaping o’er its rocky bed : 

Here lie the corn-fields with a gleam 
Of daisies white and poppies red. 


A faint star trembles in the west ; 

A fire-fly sparkles, fluttering bright 
Against the mountain’s sombre breast; 
And yonder shines a village light. 

Oh ! could I creep into thine arms 
Beloved! and upon thy face 
Read the arrest of dire alarms 
That press me close; from thy embrace 


ii 


View the sweet earth as on we ride. 

Alas! how vain our longings are! 
Already night is spreading wide 
Her sable wing, and thou art far. 


12 


DEPARTURE. 

T HE hours go on. 

Up from the leaden-colored sea 
The autumn wind sweeps chillingly, 
And she is gone. 


Like tears that drain 
The heart until its springs are dry, 

So drains the sources of the sky 
The falling rain. 

The white ships sail 

Like ghosts towards some mysterious tryst 
Hastening ; and vanish in the mist, 

Silent and pale. 


From clasping hands 
And clinging lips, from love and care 
Of dear ones left, they dear ones bear 
To unknown lands. 


13 


The circling shore 
Lies lonely; the receding wave 
Moans like that whisper from the grave 
Heard evermore 

By widowed hearts: 

“Unfettered by the bonds of years, 

And deaf to prayers, untouched by tears. 
Each one departs.” 

O Love! O Grief! 

Your mingled notes I singing wake, 

With trust that song for her dear sake 
May bring relief. 


14 


CUI BONO? 

W HEREFORE the vigils and the tears, 

The flight of dreams when night ap- 
pears, 

The short repose, the long unrest, 

The wearied throbbings of the breast, 

And utter impotence of will; 

The shifting of the pillow till 
A dull beam strikes the window-pane 
And daylight struggles in again? 

Were it indeed for her dear sake — 

If she might slumber while I wake — 

If, for my tossings to and fro, 

Her limbs profounder rest might know— 

But sleep, because it shuns my eyes, 

On hers no whit the gentler lies; 

And all the tears that I can shed 
Bring no new blessing to her bed. 

O Love! how overbold art thou. 

I am thy slave; my heart I bow. 

But one grace I demand of thee; 

Torture not unavailingly. 


15 


Let mercy guide thee; do not keep 
Chained in thy toils the swift-winged Sleep. 
Give me, too ceaselessly oppressed, 

A little while a little rest. 


16 


A DREAM OF DEATH. { 

HELENA. 

Du hast mish beschworen aus dem Grab 
Durch deinen Zauberwillen, 

Belebtest mich mit Wollustgluth, 

Jetzt kannst du die Gluth nicht stillen. 

Press deinen Mund auf meinen Mund 
Der Menschen Odem ist gottlich, 

Ich trinke deine Seele aus, 

Die Todten sind unersattlich. 

— Heine. 

I DIED; they wrapped me in a shroud, 

With hollow mourning, far too loud, 

And sighs that were but empty sound, 

And laid me low within the ground. 

I felt her tears through all the rest; 

Past sheet and shroud they reached my breast 
They warmed to life the frozen clay, 

And I began to smile and say : 

At last thou lov’st me, Helena! 

I rose up in the dead of night; 

I sought her window; — 't was a-light. 

A pebble clattered ’gainst the pane, — 

“Who’s there? the wind and falling rain?” 


17 


“Ah! no; but one thy tears have led 
To leave his chill and narrow bed 
To warm himself before thy breath ; 
Who for thy sake has conquered death. 
Arise, and love me, Helena!” 


She oped the door, she drew me in. 

Her mouth was pale, her cheek was thin 
Her eyes were dim; its length unrolled, 
Fell loosely down her hair of gold. 

My presence wrought her grief’s eclipse ; 
She pressed her lips upon my lips, 

She held me fast in her embrace, 

Her hands went wandering o’er my face: 
At last thou lov’dst me, Helena! 


The days are dark, the days are cold, 
And heavy lies the churchyard mould. 
But ever, at the deep of night, 

Their faith the dead and living plight. 


18 


Who would not die if certain bliss ' 
Could be foreknown? and such as this 
No life — away! the hour is nigh, 
With heart on fire she waits my cry: 
Arise, and love me, Helena! 


19 


THE BETTER PART. 

B ECAUSE in love, my love! there are 
Two parts to choose, the near, the far, 
The humble moth, the glittering star; 


Since one is vassal, one is lord, 

One the adorer, one the adored, 

One speaks, and one obeys the word; 


Since one must watch and ever keep 
A faithful guard that one may sleep, 
Since one must sow, and one must reap; 


Since one must wear, and one adorn, 
One pluck the rose, and one the thorn, 
One know the night, and one the morn; 


Since one must give, and one must take, 
One yield his heart for one to break, 
Content e’en thus for love’s dear sake; 


20 


I, dearest, choose the better part; \ 

I choose the sorrow and the smart, 
The full surrender of the heart. 

I choose the better part to-day, 
Forever, which no fate can sway, 
And naught but death can take away. 


21 


COMPENSATION. 

S INCE Heaven has given to me to wear 
The crown of love august and fair, 

Is it not fit that I should bear 
Its cross as well, without despair? 

Since I may sow the precious seed, 

And cull its flowers to fill my need, 

Is it a fatal thing indeed 

If from their thorns my hands must bleed? 

Since I may drink the draught divine 
Down to the dregs, if sometimes brine 
Be mingled with the glowing wine, 

Shall I then murmur or repine? 

O thou ! who — whatsoe’er thou art, 

Thou great and universal heart ! 

Thou soul of love! since pain and smart 
Form of thy perfect whole a part, 

My destined portion let me take, 

While at thy boundless streams I slake 
My thirst and gather strength to make 
A joy of sorrow for love’s sake. 


22 


GIFTS OF THE GODS. I 

HE gods bestow on men wisdom and art 



1 To stir with noble counsel and brave deed 
The flagging pulses of a fellow-heart, 

And minister to need. 

To pierce the subtle secrets of the globe; 

To read the records of the lands and seas ; 

And stars that seam the midnight’s sable robe — 
Great Nature’s mysteries. 

And that all lore the breasts of all may reach, 
And into new exalted regions lift, 

They send the power of soul-compelling speech, 
And song’s diviner gift. 

From me they veiled their higher knowledge, hid 
The paths of light and calm that lie above 
The common round — my feeble lispings chid, 
But taught me how to love. 


23 


SHADOWS. 

S HE leaned from out the mystic space 
Of Shadow-land. As on the wall 
The shapes the fire-light casts, her face 
Flickered and faded; — that was all. 

Like phantoms starting on the wold, 

When dusk defeats the clear-eyed day, 

Her form rose; but when arms would hold 
And clasp, it vanished quite away. 

Now we are shadows both. Above 
The grave of hoped-for, future bliss 
Two pale wraiths stand. O Sister! Love! 
Reach me thy lips. Can shadows kiss? 


24 


A ROSARY. I 

L IKE pearls that form a rosary, 

So lie in shining rows for me, 

Strung on a golden thread of Time, 

The precious hours I know with thee. 

And, filled with love and praise of thee, 

As one who tells his rosary, 

I count upon the beads of Time 
The benisons thou bringest me. 

Oh ! may such hours still dawn for me. 

So rich in love, so filled with thee, 

And glisten on the robe of Time 
A never-ending rosary. 


25 


HELENA’S SONG. 

B ETWEEN the olives and the pines 

The vineyards slope to meet the shore. 
The sun in skies unsullied shines 
Till evening, lends a charm the more. 

The fragrant breath of orange-flowers 
Perfumes the sleepy summer air, 

And all the slow-revolving hours 
A garb of pomp and beauty wear. 

What were it all, O Love! my Love! 

But that with thee its joy I know? 

Thou art my dazzling heaven above, 

And thou my fertile field below. 

Thou art my wave-encircled land, 

And thou alone my central sea. 

My spirit leaps at thy demand 
To drown, to lose itself in thee. 


26 


AMOR LEGGIERO. i 

C HE son io per te? 

Una rosa che il fiato 
Del caso ti soffia sul sentier, 

Destando nel cor tuo triste e scoraggiate 
Della sua primavera un breve pensier. 
Raccogli per poco 1’ umil fior, 

Ed egli si muor. 

Che sei tu per me? 

Un dolce e caldo raggio 
Che manda della vita il piu bel sol, 

A ranimar nel petto i cari di del Maggio, 
Mentre il mondo intier del freddo si duol. 

Ma cade la notte e il mio cor 
S’agghiaccia allor. 

Ebben, e sia cosi ! 

Non pianger si picciol cosa. 

Godiamo almen la fugace felicita. 

Godiamo il caldo del sol, il soave odor della 
rosa, 

Finche la notte vien e il profumo sen va. 
Coprimi di baci mentre l’amor 
Vive ancor. 


27 


BURNT SHIPS. 

See H. H.’s Sonnet, "Burnt Ships.” 

U PON the hopeless desert of her love 

I landed, lured by glamours on her face. 
And, scarce on shore, — a desolate strange place, — 
I said, — but surely some green cedar grove 
Awaits me, proffering its cooling shade, 

And in its depths melodious fountains spring. 
So tear the canvas from the masts and bring 
Planks, beams, and spars until the pile be laid. 
Then with my own mad hands I lit the fire, 
And watched with fevered eyes the dark mass 
burn, 

So blotting out the prospect of return. 

But daily cools the pulse of my desire, 

And bitter is the redness of her lips. 

Oh! god of love, why did I burn my ships? 


28 


OUTRE-MORT. 

S UPPOSE the dreaded messenger of death 
Should hasten steps that seem, though sure, 
so slow, 

And soon should whisper with his chilly breath : 
“Arise! thine hour has sounded, thou must go; 
For they that earliest taste life’s holiest feast 
Must early fast, lest, grown too bold, they dare 
Of them that follow after seize the share.” 
Then, though my pulse’s beat forever ceased, 

If where I slumbered thou shouldst chance to 
pass, 

Though grave-bound, I thy presence should dis- 
cern. 

Heedless of coffin-lid and tangled grass, 

Upward to kiss thy feet my lips would yearn; 
And did one spark of love thy heart inflame, 
With the old rapture I should call thy name. 


29 


LIGHT-HOUSES. 

HEN pales the sunset flush along the sky, 



V V When the sea’s azure deepens into gray, 
The light-house lamps flash out across the bay, 
Their cheerful beams proclaiming, — “This way lie 
Perils, and that way safety: ye who roam, 
Searching for foreign shores, with caution steer; 
And ye returning, lo ! the land is near, 

And yonder waits the harbor which is home.” 
Such is thy part; thou art my beacon-light 
Standing the open passage to disclose, 

Against unsafe and treacherous ways to warn. 
Nor ever did a dark and stormy night 
Obscure my path, but that bright flame arose 
And shone with steadfast radiance till the morn. 


30 


LAURELS. 

{ WOULD cull laurels — not for pride or fame. 

When grave shades fall on him that lieth low, 
All honor shrivels to an empty name; 

Alike are praise and blame, sunshine and snow. 
But I would pluck the rarest flowers that spring 
From mortal effort, gems that deepest sleep 
In human possibility, to fling 
Low at thy feet the gorgeous glittering heap, 

That endless splendors might thy name surround ; 
That men beholding thine imperial mien, 

And the rich jewels therewith thou wert crowned. 
Might cry with awed, rapt voice, “Behold the 
queen !” 

That thou, so greeted, might’st grow proud the 
while, 

And know love’s work and bless me with a smile. 


31 


JEWELS. 

K INGS have a royal custom that I love. 

In common times bringing the priceless 
gems 

That on high fete-days crown their diadem? 

And of each stone setting the name above, 

As, — This is such a pearl; such diamond this; 
They spread them where the general eye may see 
And grow to brilliance in their brilliancy. 

I too have jewels, jewels of pure bliss, 
Brighter than pearls and diamonds, and more 
rare, — 

Of song, speech, silence, presence, absence; turn 
Which way you will their deathless splendors 
burn ; 

So by my mood men guess which one I wear, 

And in my gladness see the others shine, 

For I am faint with joy to know them mine. 


32 


LIEBESBITTE. 

I N YEARS to come I ask thee not to say: 

“I loved him once ; once I did hold him dear 
Ah no! long since I put that hope away, 

And buried it in smiles, without a tear. 

But say: “’Mid all who worshipped at my feet, 
Exalting me, ’mid all who loved me best. 

As I remember now, I think there beat 
No heart more fondly in a single breast. 

No eyes that brightened quicker when I came, 
No hand that lay more longingly in mine, 

No voice that knew a tenderer tone to name 
My name than his whose love seemed half di- 
vine.” 

If this thou say, though I be dead the while, 

The words will reach me, I shall hear and smile. 


MY QUEEN. 

S HE has been queen too long whom I adore, 
Mistress of men and moulder of their will, 
For homage such as mine to reach the core 
Of her proud heart, or teach it one new thrill. 
Yet have I heard that royal rulers know 
Such greed for power, that, for some strip of 
land, 

Some province stored with vineyards, or where 
stand 

Long rows of waving corn and grain, they throw 
Like rubbish, honor, wealth, and fame away, 

And, as ’t were water, spill the blood of men. 

If this be so, perchance to increase thy sway 
By one poor heart’s extent thou’rt fain. Oh! 
then 

Stretch out thy hand to me, and with a mien 
Of graciousness look on me, oh! my queen. 


34 


s 


“ONE WAY OF LOVE.” 

T O LOVE thee, sweet, is as if one should love 
A marble statue of perfected form, 

Which, on the spot that hot lips lie above, 

A tiny spot, grows for an instant warm: 

The moment passed, straightway ’t is cold again, 
Returning to its first proud lifeless grace; 
Keeping no memory of the close embrace, 

Nor from the warm red lips one scarlet stain. 
But what of that? Why should I be distressed 
Though thou art cold as stone? Let me be brave 
If but for once, and love for nothing save 
For love’s sake only; for he loveth best 
And brightest does his flame of passion burn 
Who giveth all things asking no return. 


35 


MORTALIS. 

I F THOU shouldst die, Beloved, — fatal thought 
That curdles all the blood along my veins. 
And as with foul and poisonous vapor stains 
The glad day’s beauty, — though with anguish 
fraught 

Our parting, I would fain be near, that naught 
Might miss me of the swift and torturing pains 
Such loss would nourish, — for my soul disdains 
A peace of ignorance or oblivion bought. 

And, Love! I would not be the first to go, 

Lest thy dear eyes might drop a single tear, 
Remembering one who worshipped them so well; 
Or lest some sudden pang thy breast might know, 
When, half forgetting, thou shouldst chance to 
hear 

Some careless voice my name and story tell. 


36 


s 


THINE EYES. 

TN OTHER days, Beloved, when the world 
1 Has stepped between us, and thou seem’st to 
be 

Far off, — when half effaced my memory 
By mists of sweeter incense round thee curled 
Than I can offer, — when, like dead leaves whirled 
Before a storm, my glad dreams break and flee 
Before relentless fate’s reality — 

When youth and joy their golden wings have 
furled — 

Even then, O Love! I shall not quite despair; 
Even then, upon my weary heart and sore 
A gentle after-sunset glow will rise 
And comfort me; some moments will be fair. 
And looking back, I still shall smile once more, 
Remembering the old kindness of thine eyes. 


37 


DEPENDENCE. 

W HAT would life keep for me if thou 
shouldst go? 

Beloved, give me answer; for my art 
Is pledged unto thy service, and my heart 
Apart from thee nor joy nor grace doth know. 
No arid desert, no wide waste of snow, 

Looks drearier to exiled ones who start 
On their forced journey than, shouldst thou de- 
part, 

This fair green earth to my dead hope would 
show. 

And like a drowning man who struggling clings 
With stiffened fingers to the rope that saves, 
Thrown out to meet his deep need from the land, 
So to thy thought I hold when sorrow’s wings 
Darken the sky, and ’mid the bitterest waves 
Of fate am succored by thy friendly hand. 


38 


\ 


SUBMISSION. 

G OD forbid, dearest, that I should complain 
However hard and heavy be the cross 
Thou bidst me carry; since to me all loss 
Incurred for thee turns straightway into gain, 
And by the side of thine inflicted pain 
All pleasure won from others is as dross 
Beside pure gold. Like summer winds that toss 
The branches of the trees whose trunks remain 
Unmoved, so sweep the floods of circumstance, 
Ruffling alone the current of my mood, 

While my soul’s deep repose they cannot shake. 
But at a word of thine, before thy glance, 

My spirit bows, knowing thy will is good. 
Eager to do or suffer for thy sake. 


39 


LOVE’S CALENDAR. 

{ TAKE no heed of month, or week, or day, 

Or of the times and seasons of the year. 
Springtime it is with me when she is near, 

And winter when the clouds of absence stray 
Across my heaven, holding its sun at bay. 

The morning dawns when her dear eyes appear, 
And night shuts down upon me, blank and drear, 
When those consoling orbs are taken away. 

As earth is gladdened when the snows depart, 
When woods and meadows are no longer bare, 
But tender blossoms nestle in the grass, 

So, when my Love approaches, to my heart 
Her balmy breath brings floods of summer air, 
And fresh flowers spring where’er her footsteps 
pass. 


40 


\ 


ISLANDS. 

"Some unsuspected isle in far-off seas.”— Brownino. 

B EYOND the sea-coast, where the level sea 
Stretches its shining length, some isle must 
rest, 

Cradled upon the ocean’s bounteous breast, 
Where men might live untrammelled, glad, and 
free. 

Out of life’s babbling current there must be 
Some unsuspected isle, Love’s dear bequest 
To those who follow him, where, safe and blest, 
Oh! my beloved, I might dwell with thee. 

But ships are not found strong enough to bear 
Adventurers over every ocean’s foam; 

Not all my thought, not all my love and care, 
Can build the bark in which we two might roam ; 
So still my voice assails the unheeding air 
With vain lamentings for that island home. 


4 * 


SNOW-DROPS. 

A LREADY once I ’ve brought you snow- 
drops, dear, 

From an old garden whose forgotten grace 
Seemed to revive again a little space 
To do you honor. Though March winds blow 
drear 

And chill, yet, with sweet sense that spring is 
near, 

These brave and hardy buds the snow displace; 
Showing, each one, a white and shining face, — 
The earliest flowers of the awakening year. 

So, like the snow-drops, once for me there grew, 
Amid the snows of life, pure blossoms, when 
Your smile first rested on me, and I knew 
My springtime was at hand. To-day, again, 

The flowers of spring and love I bring to you, 
With heart unchanged and faithful now as then. 


42 


✓ 


LOVE’S ABODE. 

U P THE white steps that lead to Love’s abode 
I hastened, tarrying by the golden gate. 
“Ruler of gods and men,” I cried, “I wait 
To pay my homage here where most ’t is owed !” 
Then the bright gate swung open, and bestowed 
An entrance, and Love’s servants in sweet state 
Came out to meet and welcome me. Elate 
And proud, I followed where the way they 
showed : 

They led me to the temple door, whence gleam 
Soft lights, whence sweet scents float upon the 
air. 

“Here wait our master’s voice,” they said, and 
then — 

They left me. When shall I be called, oh when, 
Tnto the inner sanctuary, where, 

Amid his chosen ones, Love reigns supreme? 


43 


STORM AND CALM. 

WHILE LISTENING TO A ST. SAENS CONCERTO. 

T HE waves of love will dash me on a shore 
Trackless and waste, whence there is no 
return. 

My mast is split, my rudder gone; they burn 
Like glowing coals, — these icy waves that pour 
Across my shattered deck; the mad winds tore 
Long since my sails in shreds. The black heavens 
yearn 

To clasp the deep; no star can I discern 
That might direct me till the storm were o’er. 
So rose the cry of one in agony, 

Tossed on wide floods of passion, doubt, and 
dread. 

Then, as a clear morn smiles upon the sea, 
When a wild night has spread its wings and fled, 
So thy sweet eyes arose and shone on me, 

And peace and calm upon my soul were shed. 


44 


s 


SERVING. 

T HAT thou Tt not yet all mine why should I 
care? 

Why grieve because the draught is scant and thin 
Which thy love offers for my tasting in 
Its fragile cup, at moments short and rare? 

Fool should I be thus early to despair! 

The labors of my love but now begin. 

Twice seven long years did Jacob serve to win 
Rachel, and dwelt with her long days and fair; 
So I will serve for thee; from land to land 
Gleaning and gathering, until twice seven years, 
And more, if need be, on their path shall roll ; 
With fond assurance that we two shall stand 
At last, together, ’mid the blessed spheres 
Of love’s domain, united soul to soul. 


45 


THE BURDEN OF LOVE. 

I BEAR an unseen burden constantly; 

Waking or sleeping I can never thrust 
The load aside; through summer’s heat and dust 
And winter’s snows it still abides with me. 

I cannot let it fall though I should be 
Never so weary; carry it I must. 

Nor can the bands that bind it on me rust 
Or break, nor ever shall I be set free. 

Sometimes ’t is heavy as the weight that bore 
Atlas on giant shoulders; sometimes light 
As the frail message of the carrier dove; 

But, light or heavy, shifting never more. 

What is it thus oppressing, day and night? 
The burden, dearest, of a mighty love. 


46 


/ 


A SIMILE. 

A T SEA, far parted from the happy shore, 
The solitary rock lies all unmoved 
By the caressing waves, though unreproved 
Their constant kisses on its breast they pour. 

So it stands witnessed by all human lore, 

Where’er the wanton god of love has roved, 

His shafts fell never equal ; one beloved, 

One lover, there must be forever more. 

Dear, if thou wilt, be thou that rock at sea, 

But let me be the waves that never leave 
Their yearning towards it through the ocean 
space ; 

And be thou the beloved, but let me 
Be the fond lover destined to receive 
And hold thee in love’s infinite embrace. 


47 


BLOSSOMS OF LOVE. 

Suggested by Dante Rossetti's Sonnet , “ Passion and Worship .” 

T HE blossoms of my love are many-hued 

And manifold: some glow like tongues of 
fire 

With the hot dyes of passionate desire; 

And some are white as snow, and heavy-dewed 
With fallen tears; with modesty imbued, 

Some bow their heads ; some, purple-robed, aspire 
To flaunt before the world their proud attire; 
Some, soberer tinted, blush in solitude. 

And all these varied blooms I watch and tend 
And guard with constant care, untiringly, 

That they new grace and beauty may possess; 
And many a busy day and night I spend 
In weaving of their wealth a crown for thee. 
Beloved, wilt thou wear it? Answer yes. 


4 ? 


f 


THE WHOLE OF LOVE. 

ALFONSO TO ESTRELLA. 

L IKE one devout of soul whose constant knee 
Wears smooth the chapel’s stone, who while 
he prays 

Scarce dares uplift to heaven his humble gaze, — 
So lies my spirit suppliant before thee. 

But like an eager youth who thirstingly 
Yearns towards the chosen maid, counting what 
days 

Must pass ere joy shall crown the long delays, — 
So am I when my hot veins master me. 

Strange marriage of the spirit and the blood, 
Which bids me storm thy breast, yet, at thy feet, 
Regard thee as some saint enthroned above! 

To be worshipped and to be so woo’d, 

So reverenced, so desired — believe me, Sweet! 
This is the whole and perfect sum of love. 


49 


DEPRECATION. 

ESTRELLA TO ALFONSO. 

A PALLID nun behind the iron bars 

Of fate, I sit and watch the roses blow 
That are for others with wan smiles; and so 
I hear thy song sweep past me to the stars. 

Like haughty conquerors in triumphal cars, 

Thy mad hopes ride within thy breast, and go 
Dauntlessly into realms I do not know, 

And my pale peace thy passion breaks and mars. 
O friend! cease, therefore, thy wild minstrelsy; 
No chord responsive vibrates in my breast, 

And its dead ashes stir not at thy call. 

Then, for thy love’s sake, since thou lovest me, 
Silence the voice I may not answer, lest, 
Striving to flee from it, I faint and fall. 


I 


NEPENTHE. 

U NTO Telemachus, who, journeying, sought 
At Menelaus’ court tidings to hear 
Of great Odysseus, tarrying year on year, 

The fair-armed Helen sweet refreshment 
brought, — 

Nepenthe, Eastern juice. Such charm it wrought 
That whoso tasted it could shed no tear 
A whole day long: though all he held most dear 
Were struck with death, he knew and suffered 
naught. 

So thou, a later Helen, bringest me 
A draught wherein oblivion and repose 
In cunning portions are together blent. 

I drink: my tears are dry, my soul can see 
No ill, and even sorrow’s memory grows 
Forgotten in a nameless, deep content. 


Si 


2T 2.GTHP. 

WISE and famous nation held belief, 



Whoever in prosperity o’ergrew 
The bounds of temperate good, him would pursue 
The ever- jealous gods with loss and grief. 
Sometimes so golden is my harvest’s sheaf, 

My way so flowery and my heaven so blue, 

I tremble lest, perchance, the immortals brew 
A storm to prove my fortune’s sudden thief. 

But thou art my preserver even here, 

And earn’st me mercy from the envious skies; 
Since, lacking thee, I lack the one thing dear, 
Which only were life’s first and fairest prize ; 

For other joys are barren all and drear, 

Beside that one which a stern fate denies. 


IN A LETTER. 

T HERE came a breath out of a distant time, 
An odor from neglected gardens where 
Unnumbered roses once perfumed the air 
Through summer days, in childhood’s happy clime. 
There came the salt scent of the sea, the chime 
Of waves against the beaches or the bare, 
Gaunt rocks; as to the mind, half unaware, 
Recur the words of some familiar rhyme. 

And as above the gardens and the sea 
The moon arises, and her silver light 
Touches the landscape with a deeper grace, 

So o’er the misty wraiths of memory, 

Turning them into pictures clear and bright, 
Rose in a halo the beloved face. 


53 


TITLES. 

B ORN sovereigns have no names but those be- 
stowed 

In baptism; Constance, Philip, — so each age 
Knows them, and deals of praise or blame their 
wage, 

As harvests of good fame or ill they sowed. 

So with the mighty, o’er whose cradle glowed 
The star of genius; with that heritage 
Dante and Raphael shine on history’s page 
Simple as when they walked our common road. 
Like thy great namesake, in whose cause the plain 
Of Troy was strewn with corpses, while above 
Olympus heard the wrathful gods contend, 

So, ’mid the homage of respect and love 
Laid at thy feet by lover and by friend, 

Helen thou art, and Helen must remain. 


54 


AFTER ABSENCE. 

A FTER long years of absence had gone by, 
He stood again upon the parent shore 
Of stern New England; but his heart was sore, 
And his dulled bosom rent with many a sigh. 
He mourned the vanished gods, the radiant sky 
Of the dear land of love and song and lore ; 

He mourned the sweet companionships of yore, 
That on his path like scattered pearls did lie. 

But when she passed, as in the former days, 
With the old halo on her golden hair, 

With the old kindness and enchanting ways, 

'T was as if some swift wind had cleared the air; 
Before her smile he stood tranfixed there; 

He had forgotten that she was so fair. 


55 


BONDAGE. 

A ND this is freedom!” cried the serf; “At 
last 

I tread free soil, the free air blows on me;” 
And, wild to learn the sweets of liberty, 

With eager hope his bosom bounded fast. 

But not for naught had the long years amassed 
Habit of slavery; among the free 
He still was servile, and, disheartened, he 
Crept back to the old bondage of the past. 

Long did I bear a hard and heavy chain 
Wreathed with amaranth and asphodel, 

But through the flower-breaths stole the weary 
pain. 

I cast it off and fled, but ’t was in vain; 

For when once more I passed by where it fell, 

I took it up and bound it on again. 


56 


WITCH-HAZEL. 

>'TpIS said that ’mid the sylvan shrubs that 
1 grow 

One has a wizard power above the rest ; 

Held o’er the soil it points its leafy crest 
To where the hidden sources sleep below. 

How must the gentle earth rejoice when flow 
The pent-up streams and ease the aching breast, 
Grown sore with guarding them! And ah, how 
blest 

Those springs to men who need of water know ! 
Beloved, at thy touch the entire bliss 
Of being floods me ; in my heart straightway 
Songs rise and gush and murmur without end. 
And, dear, who knows but that, perchance, some 
day, 

Seme one may be a little glad for this 
That thou hast wrought, and bless thee through 
thy friend? 


57 


CALM. 


See H. J/.'s Sonnet , “ The Zone of Calms.” 

H ERE let us rest within “the zone of calms,” 
Found now at last, whose delicate mysteries 
Escaped us on the old tempestuous seas, 

Though their best gifts this charmed space em- 
balms. 

Here are soft shadows as of darkling palms, 
Whose branches faintly rustle in the breeze 
Of summer morns, and gentle melodies 
As of hushed voices chanting low sweet psalms. 
The tyrant Time, plying his ceaseless oar, 

Will bear us farther all too soon, we know, — 
Eastward and westward, parted as before. 

But while we linger yet, each opposite shore 
Still indistinct, take speech, O Love, once more, 
And bless the rapturous stillness ere we go ! 


58 


SYMPHONIE FANTASTIQUE. 

E HEARD the symphony wherein the 



V Y brain 

Of the mad poet fancies his love to be 
A sweet, ever-recurring melody, 

Piquing to pleasure, ministering to pain. 

Now ball-rooms echo it, now wood and plain 
Take up the burden; joyous now and free 
It sounds, now sad and fraught with mystery : 
All life is interwoven with that strain. 

Thou art the melody of all my days, 

I but an accidental note in thine, 

Its value unobserved by alien ears. 

Remove it, still thy music is as fine; 

But take thee from me, and the void displays 
Discord and inharmonious fall of tears. 


59 


IDEM NON ALITER. 

S AY not the charm is broken; that the old 
Rapture has faded to a cool content; 

That flowers so sweet at morn must lose their 
scent, 

When toward life’s noon experience shall have 
rolled. 

Nor whisper that the tale so often told 
Fails in some measure of its blandishment; 

Nor that the chord jangles wherein were blent 
All harmonies that music’s voices hold. 

Ah, dear, a shining isle forever lies 
Beyond the track of ships, in the still sea, 
Where chains are hid in wooing, soft disguise. 
More blest than freedom seems captivity; 

For the old Circe looks from out thine eyes, 

And thy Odysseus does not wish to flee. 


60 


THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. 


i. 


UARDED by walls of roses set with thorns, 



Within her palace-room the princess slept, 
Nor heard how through the wood the loud chase 
swept, 

With bay of hounds and note of hunting-horns. 
Into some dream of summer eves and morns 
Perchance a sudden thrill prophetic crept, 

As to her side one eager hunter leapt, 

Made strong by love that bans and barriers scorns, 
Before his tread, — as at some sharp blade’s stroke 
A flower might fall, — the deep enchantment broke. 
He pressed his lips to hers in love’s long kiss; 
And as her name in rapturous tone he spoke, 
With happy, smiling eyes the princess woke 
To meet the new and unsuspected bliss. 


61 


II. 


Once more in slumbering state a princess lay, 
While in the shadow of her palace-walls 
Unheeded died the glad and pleading calls 
Of love and joy the outer world that sway. 

But when towards evening sped her peaceful day. 
Despite a charm that soul and sense enthralls, 
Into the stillness of her perfumed halls, 

On fire with love, I made my venturous way. 
Lo! I have waked her with my ardent lips; 

Have seen the warm blood mantle in her cheek 
That surged impetuous round my own heart’s 
core. 

Yet once again she sank in sleep’s eclipse. 

Oh, be more powerful now the word I speak, 

The touch I give ! Sweet princess, sleep no more ! 


62 




FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE. 

F RIENDSHIP sat smiling on a flowery height. 
Watching the blooming groves, the meadows 
green, 

The peaceful stream that flowed the fields be- 
tween. 

“How rich my realm,” she breathed, “how glad, 
how bright!” 

But on a sudden fell a purple light, 

Deepening the tranquil beauty of the scene, 
Tingeing with amethyst hue the river’s sheen, 
As Love drew near in majesty and might. 

“This is my kingdom, sister !” quick he cried. 
“My paths are not all stormy; there is calm 
Upon my mountains, and clear skies above. 

This radiant land thou viewest bears my balm, 
Profounder far than thine.” Then Friendship 
sighed, 

But rose, and yielded up her seat to Love. 


63 


THE TROUBADOUR. 

HOU Troubadour, roaming from land to 



land, 


Singing, indeed, we grant, one endless theme, — 
Thy lady’s praise, — and striving to redeem 
The pledges laid on thee by Love’s command, 

We are the truer lovers, we who stand 
Beside our mistress, though no rilver stream 
Of song escape our lips. Thou art the dream, 
We the realities her eyes have scanned. 

“Know ye,” he answered, “how those lilies grow 
That on the lake’s breast seem to float apart 
And free, though fastened firm their roots below? 
Thus do I seem before the wind and tide 
Of chance and change to sway from side to side; 
But still my heart is anchored to her heart.” 


64 


“THE GREEK YOUTH." 

H E GOES," she said: “there, at the opening 
door, 

I see a shimmer as of snowy wings; 

’T is his white robe that as he passes flings 
Its shining undulation o’er the floor." 

But while she spoke, his fond arms as before 
Held her, his kiss burned on her lips ; as sings 
Some woodland bird, his voice’s murmurings 
Thrilled with the joyous weight of love he bore. 
’T was but the moonlight of thine own sad eyes 
That cast my shadow; in thy silver sphere, 

Half dusk, half light, ghosts start at any breath. 
I bring the sunshine; in it no surprise 
Can come, no shade can walk. Lo! I am here, 
Beloved, and shall be here unto death. 


65 


WANDERLEBEN. 

H E has no home, he owns no fatherland; 

His country is the hospitable earth. 

He shapes his course where, past the fields of 
dearth, 

The planet’s greenest groves of plenty stand ; 

But howsoever golden be the strand 
He treadeth, clearer than the sound of mirth 
And laughter steals the voice that still gives birth 
To his best joy, more potent than command. 
Again and once again his ship he steers 
Into one harbor, hastening to the saint 
Before whose shrine his constant offering glows. 
He heaps his treasure, won with blood and tears, 
There at her feet; praying, without complaint, 
Leave but to worship as he comes and goes. 

LOFC. 


66 


HER ROSES. 

GAINST her mouth she pressed the rose, and 



there, 

’Neath the caress of lips as soft and red 
As its own petals, quick the bright bud spread 
And oped, and flung its fragrance on the air. 

It ne’er again a bud’s young grace can wear? 

O love, regret it not! It gladly shed 

Its soul for thee, and though thou kiss it dead 

It does not murmur at a fate so fair. 

Thus, once, thou breath’dst on me, till every germ 
Of love and song broke into rapturous flower, 
And sent a challenge upwards to the sky. 

What if too swift fruition set a term 
Too brief to all things? I have lived my hour, 
And die contented, since for thee I die. 


67 


AT THE CONVENT. 

I CANNOT pass beyond the jealous gate 

And the high walls that, rising stern and 
grim, 

Shut you, like sullen guards, within the dim 
Mysterious space no man may penetrate. 

But I can guess how the gray nuns chide: ‘‘Late 
Thou comest, sister; still thy lamp’s to trim. 
Thy clear voice failed us in the evening hymn 
Wherewith the grace of Heaven we supplicate.” 
Dear, as some paltry coin a lady might 
Fling to appease a beggar, ere you go 
Into your quiet cell and all is night, 

Tarrv a moment at the casement; throw 
The guerdon of your smile, his way to light, 

On your poor errant minstrel down below. 


68 


FAUST AND HELENA. 

I. 

W HEN all that life contains of rich and good, 
Being his own, had failed to bring con- 
tent 

To Faust, there rose the form wherein were blent 
All graces of all beauty’s sisterhood: 

Victorious Helen, young as when first wooed 
By Theseus; lovely as when heroes bent 
Their steps to death, and seas of blood were 
spent, 

To win her, fairest of the heavenly brood. 

But from his longing aims, that thus at last 
Embraced the shade of beauty and were blest, 
She fled to pale Persephone’s domain. 

Oh, risen again, sweet spirit! let the past 
Yield to the present ; here upon my breast 
Forget the courts that wait for thee in vain. 


69 


II. 


As unto Faust, when all life holds had failed 
To bring content, the Beauteous One returned, 
Summoned from Hades, at whose sight gods 
burned, 

And goddesses with sudden envy paled, 

So, when the banquet of this world regaled 
My spirit poorly, all for which it yearned 
Rose in thy presence, and my eyes discerned 
In thine the whole of loveliness unveiled. 

But from his clasping arms the vision fled 
Back to the silent realms, and once more left 
Him lone, unsatisfied, and desolate. 

Sweet, vanish never, lest my heart, bereft, 
Consume itself with longing for its dead 
Delight, and to despair be consecrate. 


70 


TWO FIGURES. 

O NE, like a creature born of brighter spheres 
Than these we know, a child of joy and 
light, 

Brought gladness, beauty, and love’s blessed 
might, 

Worship and praise and reverence shorn of fears. 
And one, receiving all that most endears 
Soul unto soul, and maketh sweet the sight 
Of him that gives, the offering to requite, 
Placed in the other’s hand an urn of tears. 

Love veiled his brows, and would have fled; but 
lo! 

There came a whisper from the giver’s breast 
That stayed his fluttering wings and held him 
back: 

“Upon my head these gathered tears bestow 
A great and softening grace it else would lack, — 
The crown of sorrow. Dear, thy gift is best.” 


7 1 


SERVICE. 

S HOW me some way in which my soul may 
serve 

Thy soul, its nourisher; teach me to say 
Some word to ease thy heart with, or to lay 
Soothing upon a sore and startled nerve; 

Let me aspire to lend some gracious curve 
To the straight lines dividing day from day; 
Help me to hold the errant feet that stray 
In paths of constancy that never swerve. 
Sometimes I fail to reach thee, the ascent 
Being so steep to where thou dweH’st; in vain 
My hands are rich with gifts thou canst not take. 
But could I see my life blood, for thy sake, 

To profit thee, flow in a crimson stain, 

Dear, I believe that I could die content. 


72 


COMMUNION. 

O NE cannot draw the bars against the friends 
And guests that crowd for entrance at his 
gate; 

He opes, inviting, nor the simple state 
Of his abode against their train defends. 

But there are chambers where the lover tends 
His sacred fires; where no feet penetrate 
Save of immortals; where, early and late, 

The breath of prayer and sacrifice ascends. 

In such a spot as this, as in the shrine 
Of some white temple, in a dusk made sweet 
With incense, far from outer noise and heat, 

And hollow haste of them that part and meet, 
Surrounded by dim presences divine, 

My soul communes eternally with thine. 








































PART II. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 






4 


IMPATIENCE. 

1 SEE the ships go sailing, sailing; 

My feet are fettered to the shore. 

Their prows with many a voyage are hoar. 
See! on the far horizon paling, 

They sink and are no more. 

I see the birds go flying, flying ; 

In swaying line and whirling ring, 

’Twixt blue and blue, their way they wing; 
But the swift flocks, through ether plying, 
To me no message bring. 

I see the moon go riding, riding, 

Through heavenly paths, on golden wheels; 
Her passing kiss the ocean feels, 

But, in his bosom swiftly hiding 
His joy, no word reveals. 

O golden moon, and snowy pinions 
Of birds that fly and ships that mate 
Their speed with birds, in royal state 
Sweep proudly through your wide dominions! 
And I, — I only wait. 


3 


IM FREIEN. 

I CH gehe immer und schweige: 

Dort oben ein Voglein singt; 

Und durch die Fichtenzweige 
Die freundliche Sonne dringt. 

Die Blumen bliihn auf den Wiesen, 

Die Liifte wandelnd gehn; 

Weit in der Feme, wie Riesen, 

Die hohen Gebirge stehn. 

Die lieblichen Schatten liegen 
Auf der Erde kiihler Brust; 

Die weissen Wolken fliegen 
Im Himmel und tanzen vor Lust 

Oh! schone, theure Erde, 

Du ziehst mich an dein Herz 
Mit lockender Geberde; 

Verschwunden ist jeder Schmerz. 

Verschwunden sind Wehen und Leiden, 
Vergessen Eile und Hast; 

Es wecken nur Wonne und Freuden; 

Es bleiben nur Ruhe und Rast. 


4 


MUSA LOQUITUR. 

C HILD ! thine aspiring sense divines, 

Doubtless, the voice that speaks to thee 
Arise! across yon tossing sea 
A path of light and glory shines. 

It leads unto the fields of art, 

Whose golden harvests thou may’st reap, 
And ’mid thy garnered treasures keep, 

If humble and devout of heart. 

Go, dwell with gods and heroes ; learn 
The lessons mighty marbles teach, 

And of the laurel-crowned their speech 
That through the centuries doth burn. 

Then lowly kneel at Nature’s feet, 

And from her beating bosom draw 
Wisdom, without whose perfect law 
The best of art were incomplete. 

Listen, in climes of warmth and light, 

To the sweet-throated nightingales. 

Watch, till the morn’s embrace prevails, 
The starry splendors of the night. 


5 


On shores where placid waters roll. 

Invite the breezes of the South, 

Till their fleet kisses pass thy mouth 
And penetrate thine inmost soul. 

Then, when thy voice grows full and strong, 
When all within, without, is fair, 

Pierce with thy call the expectant air, 

And wake thy lyre to Lesbian song. 


6 


WONDERS. 

TO E. B. 

I T IS a wonder when the day 
Breaks from the portals of the night, 

And with her joyous smile and bright, 
Crowns the high hills where darkness lay, 

And floods the outstretching plains with light. 

A wonder when the bud perceives 
How tight its petals press, and grows 
Impatient of control, and throws, 

Nourished by dews of morns and eves, 

Wide in the air the perfect rose. 

Or when the gilded butterfly 
Wakes from the sleep in which were furled 
The joyous wings about him curled; 

And breaks the shell, and, floating high. 

Goes on his glad way through the world. 

But greater marvels even than these 
Are such as harbor in the soul, 

Like words within some fast-sealed scroll, 
Concealing close what mysteries! 

Till strikes the hour, and they unroll; 

7 


When eyes once cold, that looked askance, 
Kindle at ours, and send a ray 
Of warmth and cheer along our way, 

And with their deep and tender glance 
Herald the dawn of love’s new day; 

When lips we never thought to taste 
Thrill ’neath our own; when fond arms reach 
About us; when quick heart-beats teach 
How burns the breast we hold embraced, — 
Love’s signs more eloquent than speech. 

When these things are, should we not lift 
The heart to Heaven with thankful prayer 
That, working wonders everywhere, 

It wrought for us this gracious gift, 

Than which no other is more fair? 

Dear, while I whisper, bend thy cheek 
A little nearer; where my strong 
Deep praise and sweet new joy belong 
Thou know’st; the sense of what I speak, 

The happy secret of my song. 


8 


IN MEMORIAM. 


B. H. C. 

AT SORRENTO. 

I. 

T HE Summer strews with lavish hand 
Her gems upon this Southern shore 
With gold and emeralds glows the land, 
And sapphires form the ocean’s floor. 

The sun a glittering ruby gleams; 

Each star a topaz ; while the mist 
That o’er the mountain summits streams 
Is set with many an amethyst. 

Unto the evening’s gates of pearl 
There leads an opal-paved way, 

And pearly are the clouds that curl 
About the bosom of the day. 

But oft upon the radiant scene 

Thy image, O, my friend, appears, 

And all the jewels that have been 
Are changed to diamonds in my tears. 


9 


II. 


With flowers and lights the altars blazed; 
The white-robed priests, with crosses raised 
And banners fluttering, onward came 
’Mid many a candle’s flickering flame. 

The gentle dusk its mantle wrapped 
About the landscape; quiet lapped 
The land, until the pious throng 
Uplifted a thanksgiving song. 

Then, held on high, that over all 
With equal light its rays might fall, 

And equal grace to all afford, 

Was borne the body of the Lord. 

And, at its sight, upon their knees 
The people fell as when a breeze 
Sweeps o’er the summer earth at morn, 
Blowing a field of uncut corn. 

Why should thy spirit seem to shine 
Here, where a creed so unlike thine 
Lavished the treasures of its art, 

And through the senses touched the heart? 


io 


I know not, but as with the rest 
I knelt, thy memory dear and blest, 
A living presence seemed to be. 
And sacred grew the hour to me. 


FROM NAPLES TO ROME. 

T HE sun set; the wide Campagna 
Stretched about us like a sea, 

Miles on miles of billowy distance; 

Scarce a limit seemed to be 
To the great immensity, 

Till upon the far horizon, 

Through the mist the hills rose higher, 
And upon three tallest summits, 

Shooting, like a golden spire, 
Heavenwards, blazed a beacon fire. 

And we knew that in the evening 
Stillness, where the eternal dome 
Rises over tower and palace, 

Lay our long-desired home, — 

Lay the great enchantress, Rome. 

Watch-fires kindled by the ages, 
Where the passing moments pour 
All the present’s shifting fuel 
On the accumulated store 
Till the pile glows more and more, 


12 


To the grand and wondrous precincts 
Of her hoary walls invite. 

And, with longing for the morning 
To reveal them to our sight, 

Grateful hearts thanked God that night. 


13 


GIARDINO GIUSTI. 

C LAD in a garb of centuries, 

Like solemn warders of the past, 
Above its secret hoards amassed, 

Stand the funereal cypress trees. 

And each to each they nod and wave, 

And whisper how the king of kings 
Is death, and how all human things 
Bloom but to wither in the grave. 

But, down below, the city lies, 

Near where the shining river runs 
Within whose breast a thousand suns 
Are mirrored from the cloudless skies. 

And crowded market-place and square 
And street with fluttering flags are gay, 
And all the glad life of to-day 
Pulses and surges everywhere. 

For ’neath the Past’s almighty shade 
The careless Present keeps its cheer; 
And though the end is sure and near, 
Yet we press onward undismayed. 

Verona, December, 1878 


14 


FOUNTAINS IN ROME. 

B EFORE St. Peters, like the wreaths 
Of spotless snow that o’er the bare 
Sad earth the pitying winter breathes, 

The proud jets flash into the air. 

But where the water breaks and falls 
And meets the sun, with every gem 
It glows wherewith shall deck her walls 
One day the new Jerusalem. 

While here, beside a mighty pile 
Where spoils of splendid ages gleam, 

The Triton, with an endless smile, 

Uplifts to heaven his slender stream. 

And there Bernini’s grotesque taste 
With nymphs and gods the square adorns 
And giant groups in circle placed 
Fill the wide basins from their horns. 

Here Trevi, whose enchanted pool, 

When hearts with parting anguish burn, 
Will yield in draughts divinely cool 
Consoling promise of return ; 


IS 


Where come the doves to bathe and drink, 
And seek for shade amid the glare 
Of noon, beneath the fountain’s brink, 

Or ’mid the mermen’s clustering hair. 

But these, the body’s thirst that slake, 

That pour in many a loved retreat 
Their fresh and limpid floods, and make 
The beauty of the Roman street, 

Seem but the images of those 
Deep sources ’mid the city’s span 
That in their hoary breasts enclose 
The wondrous history of man. 

Rome ! of these fountains of thy lore 
Let my soul drink. Not all in vain 
Be oped for me thy matchless store, 

Nor closed without return again. 

Let some sweet stream of tuneful praise 
Towards thy clear heaven its voice uplift, 
Along whose flow shall shine and blaze 
The gracious rainbow of thy gift. 


16 


A ROMA. 

C ITTA delle citta! 

Nel tuo cielo chiaro, ridente, 
Splende il sole col piu bel folgor; 
Sul tuo suolo dove la storia 
Spande la piena del suo tesor, 
Brillan uniti 1* antica gloria 
E del presente 
Tutti i fior. 

Citta delle citta! 

Mentre il fiume corre in fretta, 
Che della vita si suol chiamar, 
Pallide ombre fra il tuo bello 
Spazio tornan a dimorar, 

E del tranquillo e calmo avello 
Che ci aspetta 
A favellar. 

Citta delle citta! 

La tua fronte porta la soma 
D’ ogni delizia e d’ ogni desir; 
Nel tuo seno contcmpliamo 


1 7 


Giunti il riso e il sospir; 
Sul tuo cuore impariamo 
A vivcr, oh ! Roma, 
E a morir. * 


18 


ON THE PINCIAN. 

T HEIR dusky boughs the pine-trees lift 
Against the heaven’s transcendent hue 
Nor does the faintest cloudlet drift 
One film across the perfect blue. 

The world lies bathed in sunshine; hill 
And hollow, fountain, circling stream, 
Sparkle with light, and hushed and still 
The city, like a dream. 

So smiles the Present, while the Past, 
Mysterious, dim, about it lies, 

Guarding the kingdoms wide and vast, 
Invisible to human eyes; 

But whispering to human ears, 

With speech more potent than our own, 
The story of the by-gone years, 

In low, perpetual tone. 

It tells how soon the race was o’er 
For others ; how we soon shall be, 

With kings and emperors gone before, 

But shadows of reality ; 


19 


And how we pass that they may come 
Whom Time’s swift courses bear along; 

How other lips, when ours are dumb, 
Shall blossom into song : 

As now we sing beside their graves 
Whose rhythmic laughter once made glad 
The earth, whose gentle memory craves 
From us more tender words than sad; 
And as to-day o’er quick and dead 
Extends the sky’s unsullied space, 

So ever o’er us all shall spread 
The infinite embrace; 

That change is not; that destiny 
Rules with a calm, impartial sway; 

That to all eyes is given to see 
The generous beauty of the day. 

And, last sweet comfort unto men,— 

The thought an armor ’gainst despair,— 
Since this world is so blest, shall, then, 

A future be less fair? 


20 


With thoughts like these of peace and rest, 
Amid the noon’s effulgent light, 

Is soothed, not terrified, the breast, 

With shadows of the coming night; 

And here within the soul’s true home, 
Beneath thy calm and tranquil sky, 
While making life all joy, O Rome, 

Thou teachest how to die. 


21 


AFTERMATH. 

J. W., DIED MARCH, 1879. 

B RAVE Heart, grown cold, didst thou not 
know 

Full recognition when the field 
Was green in June, and glad to yield 
Its wealth to them who come to mow? 

And were there some who doubted, some, 
Unwitting that perchance thy peer 
Moved not in distant ranks or near, 

Upon whose lips thy praise grew dumb? 

Such is the meed of genius, such 
Experience proves the frequent fate 
That ’mid the small attends the great; 

They, bringing little, sneer at much. 

But the late summer cometh, when 
Once more his scythe the reaper sets, 

And for the season’s store-house gets 
A new sweet crop to profit men. 


22 


So they as yet unborn shall reap 
The harvests of thy steadfastness 
And thy soul’s noble law, and bless 
The mighty '‘fruits of them that sleep.” 


23 


XAIPE. 

H AIL and farewell ! Thus in our brief career 
The greetings follow ; for our paths unite 
But to diverge, and those so near and dear 
To-day to-morrow vanish out of sight. 

But, brave and patient heart, feel no dismay ; 

For though they pass as ’t were behind a veil. 
Thy dear ones are not lost, but all thy way 
Is gladdened with their voices crying Hail ! 

And when thou standest on the shadowy brink 
Of the profound Unknown, thy parting knell 
Shall be their psalm of love, and thou shalt sink 
On sleep’s soft breast, soothed by their fond 
farewell ! 


24 


SCHUMANN’S SYMPHONY IN B FLAT 
MAJOR. 

A TRUMPET-CALL the slumbering sense 
awakes, 

And challenges to action and to fight. 

But swift the plumed line of battle breaks, 

And, breathing o’er the brows of love alight, 
The rhythm, adrift with human joys and woes, 
Goes wandering with a question and a sigh 
Throughout all life’s expectancy, to die 
At last in notes of rapture, as it rose. 

The patriot Swiss, who clasped the hostile 
spears, 

And through his bleeding breast carved freedom’s 
way, 

Had known his peer on many a glorious day, 

Had Schumann’s muse been born of earlier 
years ; 

For when such strains as these the heart do greet, 
Great deeds seem easy, and to die were sweet. 


25 


JOACHIM. 

CROSS the strings the sympathetic bow 



/“V Swept, held and guided by a master-hand. 
Like the enchanted beauty long ago 
Who slumbered, chained by magic bar and band, 
Till on her lips the appointed prince did press 
The liberating kiss and she awoke, 

So, ’neath the bow’s long-drawn desired caress, 
Swift into full and perfect being broke, 

Freed from the violin, the prisoned tones: 

In myriad measure swelled the melody, 

Bewailing now with sobs and broken moans 
The bondage past, now joyous to be free: 

And as the strain began to rise and roll, 

The soul of music met the artist’s soul. 


26 


RUBINSTEIN. 

MID expectant silence, grave and still, 



/A He laid his hands upon the pallid keys. 
Straightway the notes began to throb and thrill. 
Mirrored in sound the mighty mysteries, 

The fathomless of human life, its needs 
And hopes, doubts, fears, fancies and question- 
ings 

Appeared, and last the tramp of funeral steeds, 
And trappings of the grave. On mighty wings 
Uprose the stirring chords till the great dead 
Heard where they wandered on the shadowy way. 
Hushed for a moment was their solemn tread, 
And athwart space a whisper seemed to stray, — 
Hail ! great interpreter of god-like men ! 

Beneath thy quickening touch we live again. 


27 


CHOPIN. 

T HE polonaise is danced ; the waltz is done ; 
The guests are gone ; but still the vague re- 
gret 

That breathed through all things since the fete 
begun, 

Waits, and unrest and longing linger yet. 

Into the night! there lie repose and peace. 

Hark! how the wandering voices meet and flow 
In rhythm ; hear now those calm accords and low, 
Like dim forebodings of a swift release. 

“Whom the gods love die young.” So, Chopin, 
thou 

Heard’st early, through the harmonies that stirred 
Thy poet brain, the inevitable “Now !” 

Mad’st answer, smiling, to the summoning word. 
And, sung to sleep on Music’s tender breast, 
Sank’st gladly into an untroubled rest. 


2g 


“MEIN TAG WAR HEITER GLUCKLICH 
MEINE NACHT.” 

FROM HEINE. 

M Y day was joyous, happy was my night. 

My people’s plaudits rang whene’er the 
lyre 

Of poesy I struck ; my song’s sweet fire 
Has kindled many a flame intense and bright. 

My summer blossoms still, but piled and stored 
Within my barns have I each golden ear 
Of corn, and all that made the world so dear 
Now must I leave — leave all I so adored. 

The hand falls from the harp-strings; shattered 
lie 

The fragments of the glass with life replete, 

That gayly on my haughty lips I pressed. 

O God ! how hateful-bitter ’t is to die ! 

O God! how heavenly ’t is to live, how sweet, 

In this enchanting little earthly nest! 


29 


TO R. W. E. 

A S sweeps a wind at morning, cool and clear, 
Against the wavering mists that break and 
flee, 

Leaving the wide blue prairies of the sea 
Outstretched in sunlit splendor far and near; 

As, in the early breeze’s fresh embrace, 

The autumn flowers shake off their sleep and 
shine, 

Gold, purple, ’mid a blaze of scarlet vine, 

And all the fields are clothed with joy and 
grace,— 

So, loftiest Teacher ! sweep thy winged words 
Against the mists and errors of our days. 

So to thy voice respond a thousand chords 
That slumbered, thrilling to perfected praise. 

And ’neath the breath of thine inspiring mood, 
The soul grows strong and life seems sweet and 
good. 


30 


CHAUCER. 

A LIMPID source, a clear and bubbling spring, 
Born in some wooded dell unknown of heat, 
Above whose breast the leafy branches meet 
And kiss, and earthward wavering shadows fling; 
Upon whose brink the perfumed flower-cups 
swing 

’Neath the light tread of hurrying insect feet; 
Such, Chaucer, seems the sturdy note and sweet 
In thine unfettered song reechoing. 

Hence they who sometimes weary of the play 
Of fountains and the artificial jets 
Which in gay parks and gardens dance and leap, 
Turn back again into that forest-way 
Where thy fresh stream the grass and mosses 
wets 

That slumber on its margin cool and deep. 


3i 


AT SEA. 

i. 

W HAT lies beyond the far horizon’s rim? 

Ah ! could our ship but reach and anchor 
there, 

What wondrous scenes, what visions bright and 
fair 

Would meet the eyes that gazed across the brim! 
But though we crowd the canvas on and trim 
Our barque with skill, the proud waves seem to 
bear 

No nearer to that goal, and everywhere 
Stretches an endless circle wide and dim. 

So do we dream, treading the narrow path 
Of life, between the bounds of day and night, 
To-morrow turns this page so often conned: 

But when to-morrow cometh, lo! it hath 
The limits of to-day, and in its light 
Still lies far off the unknown heaven beyond. 


33 


n. 

We sail the centre of a ceaseless round, 

Forever circled by the horizon’s rim; 

And fondly deem that from that far-off brim 
Some sign will rise or some glad tidings sound. 
But no word comes, nor aught to break the bound 
Of sea and sky all day with distance dim, 

And vanished quite when darkness, chill and 
grim, 

About the deep her sable shroud has wound. 

So on the seas of life and time we drift, 

Within the circling limits of our fate, 

Expectant ever of some solving breath. 

But no sound comes, no pitying hand doth lift 
The veil nor faith nor love can penetrate, 

And to our dusk succeeds the dark of death. 


33 


A VOYAGE. 


"My soul is an enchanted boat."— Shelley. 

ET us float on the downward-flowing stream, 



Like to a happy lover with his bride. 

My heart is still, my soul is satisfied, 

Since thou art the companion of my dream. 
Above our heads the golden planets gleam, 

Fields strewn with flowers stretch by the river's 
side, 

The rippling waves make music as we glide ; 

Life, love and gladness is that music’s theme. 
Whence did we come into this magic boat? 

We know not, neither whither we are bound, 
For fate is silent and its end unseen. 

Let us float on — what should we do but float ? 
Until we pass into some sea profound 
Where all shall be as if it had not been. 


34 


KINGS. 

“The real king that God makes is the man who melts all wills 
into his own.”— Carlyle. 

I READ of kings and princes, how they sought 
* With flattering word and deed to hold the 
dower 

Their sires bequeathed, and with new grants of 
power 

The sufferance of the half-freed nations bought. 
How vain and foolish is their race, I thought, 
Who strut upon the stage their little hour, 

Yet, like the meanest mortal, in the flower 
Of pride and pomp, must perish and be naught. 
Then fell the seer’s words across my page : 

The only king and sovereign by God’s grace, 

Is he who melts all wills into his own. 

When this one comes to claim his heritage, 

How we fall back to give the monarch place, 

And bend the obedient knee before his throne ! 


35 


WEAVING. 

T HE fair-armed Helen in her fragrant room 
In Priam’s palace, while the bloody fight 
Raged in the plain below, beyond her sight, 
Worked at a purple garment on the loom. 

Into the web she wove pictures of gloom 
And glory, deeds of prowess and of might, 

Labors of Greeks and Trojans till black night 
Enwrapt them and they came upon their doom. 
Thus on the spreading loom of Time we weave 
The garment of our life; the web we crowd 
With shifting images by fate allowed 
To fill from nothingness our short reprieve; 

And haste the work although so loth to leave 
What, being finished, serves us for a shroud. 


36 


A SHATTERED GLASS. 

A MONG the curious trifles travellers show, 
Are bits of flashing, rainbow-tinted glass, 
Dropped by the hand of Time, that in the grass 
Of seldom-trodden fields half-hidden glow. 

What cups and bowls they fashioned who may 
know? 

But tales they tell to the new men that pass 
Of old-time feasts and revels, and, alas ! 

Of pride and joy that perished long ago. 

That was a beauteous vase from which we drank 
Sunshine and smiles and love’s sweet potion till 
From hands too weak to bear its weight it sank, 
And its frail rainbows shattered. If you will, 

Let us take up the fragments while we thank 
A gracious Heaven that these are left us still. 


37 


SURPLUS. 

W ITH fullest sunshine that yon heaven re- 
veals 

Glittered the temple-walls of his abode ; 

And life on him those richest gifts bestowed 
Which else with niggard hand it most conceals. 
The obstacles at which the faint soul feels 
Its strength give way, were crushed, when not the 
goad 

To new success, like pebbles on the road, 

Scarce noticed ’neath a conqueror’s chariot-wheels. 
But his heart trembled, for he wisely said : 

I am unworthy of this perfect feast: 

Lo! I bring offerings to each jealous god; 

Let not one be forgot, not even the least, 

If so I may escape the avenging rod : 

Of state too prosperous I am afraid. 


38 


FLORENCE. 

IKE some fair woman on whose breast are 



hung 


Jewels of price, so decked from side to side 
With towers and domes and palaces, in pride 
And state she sits the circling hills among. 

Into her lap the centuries have flung 
Their splendid spoils, and art with art has vied 
To weave her charmed raiment to abide 
And keep her ever beautiful and young. 

And those who pass beneath her potent sway 
She welcomes nobly, and with royal mien 
Points where her garnered stores of treasure lie. 
Take of them what you will, she seems to say: 
Here are no limits, for a queen am I, 

Generous in giving as befits a queen. 


39 


ROME AFTER 1870. 

M OTHER of Nations, on whose classic brow 
Glittered in turn the imperial diadem, 
The royal fillet, and that brighter gem 
With which free men their chosen chief endow; 
To-day’s fresh crown prints nobler furrows now 
Upon thy front than left by all of them. 

New pearls of promise deck thy garment’s hem, 
And thy pulse quivers at a people’s vow. 

Child of these later times ! yield to thy land 
Again the blessings it has rendered thee! 

Last, precious conquest of a valiant band, 

Weary of bondage, struggling to be free, 

Resolved on union, — be the strong right Hand 
As still thou art the Heart of Italy! 


40 


TO ROME. 


i. 

A GARDEN of Armida wherein flows 

A stream of sweet oblivion, where the roar 
And din of far-off fights is heard no more, 
Where for all wounds some healing balsam 
grows ; 

A dream in which no dread of waking throws 
Its darkling shadow o’er the fancy’s store, 

But where the radiant-fingered hours outpour 
Long draughts of rest, refreshment, and repose; 
Both these, — a vision, an enchanted space, — 

City of cities! when the eyes have seen 
Thy deeper mysteries, dost thou appear. 

Fain would the heart, in homage to thy grace 
And grandeur, cry that the wide world might 
hear: 

Hail ! mighty Rome ! my mistress and my queen ! 


41 


II. 


Like an o’erwhelming wind that sweeps along 
The path on which glad bands of pilgrims come, 
Lashing their limbs till they grow stiff and numb, 
Smiting their lips and robbing them of song; 

So do thy mighty shadows move among 
The daily shows, upon their fronts the sum 
And story of the Past; and speech is dumb, 

And dead desire before that wondrous throng. 
What should he prate whose ear is strained to 
catch 

Their voiceless accents? how torment the heart 
With thoughts aside from their imperious sway? 
Back, every crowding image, while we watch 
The spirits’ progress, and e’en thou depart, 

O Love! unanswered; this is not thy day. 


42 


III. 


As in the presence of the loved one fly, 

For him who loves, the golden-winged hours, 

So ’mid the circle of thy charm, with showers 
Of gifts and benisons the days go by. 

And as his mistress still the lover’s eye 
Invests with new-found beauties, so fresh flowers 
Upon thy bounteous lap the lavish Powers 
Seem to our dazzled sight to multiply. 

And one divinely-drunken spirit nods 
Above the cup thou bear’st, crying : ’T is fraught 
With joy; drink deep while the wine overflows. 
But one more wise a warning word bestows ; 
Heart ! let thy bliss be tempered by the thought — 
Excess of rapture pleases not the gods. 


43 


ANTINOUS OF THE VATICAN. 
NTINOUS, upon thy brow of snow 



/"V It seems as if the gathered sunshine lay 
Of ages, and about thy sweet lips play 
The same glad smiles that wreathed them long 
ago. 

Thy curls’ luxuriant clusters seem to glow 
With the old life ; we almost hear thee say 
The word thou usedst to murmur in that day 
When love’s kiss burned on thy mouth’s perfect 
bow. 

O sweetest youth that ever human eyes 
Have gazed upon, thou mak’st the heart grow 
warm 

Of him who lifts his glance to thee above. 

And thine, besides the charm of face and form. 
His higher fame of whom the poet cries : 

“How noble is his end who dies for love !” * 

* “Che bel fin ta chi ben amando more !’’ 


Pbtrarch. 


44 


A BAS-RELIEF. 

A WHITE-ROBED priestess by an altar 
stands, 

Whence breath of flowers and flame of sacrifice 
With intermingled smoke of incense rise, 

Serving the god with fair and stainless hands. 

Up an ascending pathway come the bands 
Of worshippers with gifts; their yearning eyes 
Turned towards the goal that in the distance lies 
Like some cloud structure reared in sunset lands. 
But now the shrine is reached; each one has 
bowed 

Before the gracious presence; each has passed, 
Leaving his offering, of the adoring throng. 
Garlands and jewels there are strewn; and last 
A smiling youth, bright-haired and eager-browed, 
Lays at the altar’s foot a wreath of song. 


45 


ADDIO A ROMA. 

S ERBA, o citta ! un silenzio maestoso ; 
Tu di chi parte non senti il dolore; 
Tu sei eterna, e in immortal splendore 
Brilla il volto tuo, alto e luminoso, 
Verso di te lo sguardo lacrimoso 
Volge neir ultima ora il viaggiatore, 

E col pianto misto, dal triste cuore 
Prorompe il suo discorso amoroso. 
Cara e beata ! ti cinge il pensier mio, 
Come le braccia nell’ ardente amplesso 
D’ amor 1* oggetto stringon del desio. 
Tu che mi porti d’ ogni mal 1* obblio, 
E il mio cammin rischiari col riflesso 
D’ un indicibil gioia — addio, addio! 


46 


ON LEAVING ITALY. 

A S one who gazes on a dear dead face, 

When all is o’er, and cannot let it go, 

But with hot tears, and accents weak with woe, 
Pleads for one last reprieve, one little space, 
Before the grave shall cover all that grace 
Which even in death the pallid features show, 
Knowing that while the stream of life shall flow, 
No newer love this old one can replace; 

So do I turn once more, and yet once more, 

Land of my love, my lingering look on thee. 

A month, — a week, — a day ; — it may not be : 

So sounds the message that the further shore 
Cries to its messenger th’ unfeeling sea. 

Farewell, O Italy! my Italy! 


47 


WIDMUNG. 

W HAT shall I write on these clean snowy 
snowy pages 

Lying before me so temptingly fair? 

Insults to time that debases and ages? 

’Stead of old love-lays new songs of despair? 

Oh! never those, although gone be the glory, 
Faded the freshness that love might inspire, 
Faltering the voice that would fain tell the story, 
Slackened or broken the cords of the lyre. 

For I may still by the infrequent flashes 
Shining instead of the moon’s serene light, 
Catch some bright vision before the end crashes, 
Shrouding the soul in Cimmerian night. 

Taste, perhaps, still some stray drop from that 
fountain, 

Bubbling where youth paused its garlands to 
bind, 

And on descending the beautiful mountain, 
Cast one last look on the heaven left behind. 


48 


APOLOGIA. 

TO THE YOUNGER GENERATION. 

T IMES change, we know, my dears, times 
change, 

And every age’s farther range 

Brings wider knowledge, hopes more high; 

You are more likely right than I, 

You whom new science and new “views” 

Have taught this span of life to use 

So well and wisely, to reject 

The harmful and the good perfect. 

And yet — in Arcady I too 

Have tarried when the skies were blue, 

When warm airs lulled and myriad flowers 
Studded like stars the Summer’s bowers; 

And in the stillness, down the groves 
Sounded the call of laughing loves, 

While, rapturous burden! unafraid 
Lay on my breast the chosen maid, 

And time might come or time might go, 

But all was bliss and beauty. 

So— 

As when in ancient times some saint 
Travelled far northwards to acquaint 


49 


The people of some German wood 
With Christian faith and Christian good, 
And by his rugged eloquence 
Moved them to cast their idols hence, 

Tear down their shrines, accept the cross 
As more than gain for so much loss — 

Yet some there were who evermore 
Turned backwards to the dear old lore, 

And stealing from their huts at night, 

Went forth to celebrate the rite, — 

’Neath helpful moons and guardian trees, — 
Of more familiar deities, 

Not of the new ways thinking ill, 

But loving best the old ones still — 

So I, from modern thought’s last phase 
Turn back at times the gods to praise 
Who on such pleasant paths have led 
And showered such blessings on my head ; 
Not heedless of all greater gain, 

But unforgetful in their wane 

Of those long-loved divinities 

Who gave me happiness. And these — 

The songs that in their name I sing — 
These are my grateful offering. 

SO 


TO POETRY. 

p RE yet my infant lips had learned 

^ The speech correct that comes with time, 

Beneath thy holy kiss they burned, 

And stammering feebly, oped in rhyme. 

Later how oft my heart grew faint 
’Neath the sweet spell thy glamour throws! 

Thou didst the lily whiter paint 
And gav’dst new odor to the rose. 

Thou whisperedst me amid the strife 
With common cares, of higher truth, 

Heldst me, despite the march of life, 

In kingdoms of eternal youth. 

Thou taught’st me how to love, the maid 
I loved adorn’dst with perfect charms ; 

Upon my lips thy magic laid 
Swept her to my triumphant arms. 

Now that the golden days are past, 

And seasons flutter to their end 

Like weary birds, thy blessings last, 

Thou art my solace and my friend. 

51 


Thou art my haven and my hope, 

The bosom, thou, whereon I wait, 
Expectant, scarce afraid, till ope 
The clanging portals of my fate. 

Nor leave me then, forever stay! 

In those dread shades be thou my light! 
And soothe me softly down the way 
That leads to everlasting night. 


52 


PROPITIATION. 

A FRESH wind blows against the land; 

The crested waves toss to and fro; 
The swelling waves and shining sand 
Glitter like rifts of frozen snow. 

The breath of morn lies soft and dim 
Upon the sea; the tender trace 
Of pink along the horizon’s rim 
Her lips left in the azure space. 

So on the threshold of the morn, 

Before the unclosing door I wait; 

Will hope expire? Will joy be born? 

How stands it in the book of fate? 

O august sisters, sisters three, 

Who hold the distaff, spin the thread, 
And weave all human destiny 
Into a pattern bright or dread, 

I ask no boon of you; desire 
And fear ye know; I only bring 
In words that morning hours inspire 
Propitiatory offering. 


53 


And though no altars rise apart 
Where men your awful praise rehearse, 
I build an altar in my heart, 

And on it lay my pleading verse. 


54 


A PRAYER. 

N OT through my merits but your grace, 
Immortal powers that set me free, 

I stand before you face to face, 

And share in your eternity. 

I know beyond this path so fair 
And joyous opes the dark abyss; 

I know that wreck and ruin there 
May be the end of too much bliss. 

But spare me! If my humble dread 
Appease the Fate yourselves obey, 

Oh, on my bowed but crowned head 
Let not your shafts descend to slay ! 

Your altars all I light with fires 
Where deepest awe and reverence meet. 
And garlanded with gained desires 
I cling, still suppliant, to your feet. 


55 


THE ROSE AND THE STATUE. 

T HE Rose said to the Statue: Thou art cold 
And passionless, though beautiful and grand. 
I all my life exhale, while thou dost stand 
Unmoved, unmindful of the sweets I hold. 

The statue answered to the rose : Thou poor, 

Frail creature, toy and wanton of a day, 

I scarce can stoop to note thy swift decay; 
Lo! thou art fading now, but I endure. 

Thus each reproached the other; neither thought 
What various means lead to an end the same; 
How manifold is beauty, and what claim 
To the world’s gratitude the other brought. 

O Statue! shine in majesty, replete 
With high suggestions of eternal things. 

O Rose! yield up thy breath and die; the wings 
Of love receive it, for thy breath is sweet. 

One must be cold and suffer — ’t is earth’s blight; 

One must be warm and suffer. Thus the 
• poles 

Touch in a law unchanging; but the souls 
Of Statue and of Rose can ne’er unite. 

5& 


EVE. 

W HY did’st thou bite the acrid fruit? 

We might have known it would not suit, 
O late-born Eve! thy tender taste. 

(Hark! how the garden sounds are mute 
That swept like tones of harp and flute 
O’er flowery paths, now bare and waste). 

Why did I play the serpent’s part, 

Who should have helped to shield thy heart 
From every flaw and taint of ill? 

(See how the murky shadows dart. 

And from the frozen hollows start 
The evening vapors damp and chill). 

Thou offerest me thy smiles in vain. 

I see behind the poignant pain, 

I know thy joy a sad pretence. 

Oh ! could some blessing break this bane, 

And bring for one short hour again 
Our Eden’s pristine innocence I 

Yet since the fates forever lacked 
The power to tamper with a fact, 

57 


And what has been must ever be; — 

Since heaven’s high law doth still exact 
That every covenant and pact 
Be kept with it eternally, 

And since the bolt has struck us so, — 

The common lot of them that know 
The knowledge born of human speech — 
Strip off this vain disguise and show 
As heaven has willed that they should grow, 
Our souls uncovered, each to each. 

What is there here to scare or fright 
Now it is closed with? Can our sight 
Not pierce the poverty and dark, 

And find some yearning for the right; 
Some striving towards the broader light 
In some inborn immortal spark? 

Or dare we fear aught God has made 
And placed within our hearts? Who said; 
Be thus, ye children of an hour. 

This seed within the ground I laid, 

To grow in sunshine and in shade, 

And bear in time a fitting flower. 

58 


Did he not say so? for confused 
The voices mingle now that used 
To sound so clear before we fell. 

Yet, Sweet, I loved thee, nor abused 
The law of love — then unaccused 
We stand at last? I cannot tell. 

But this I know — not in delay, 

In action is our cure. Our way 
Amid the heat of conflict lies. 

Press onward in the front array, 

Better the life that calls to-day 
Than any sleepy paradise. 

Courage ! stout hearts are still divine 
In essence; so are thine and mine, 
Bearing whatever blot or scar. 

Seek’st thou a token or a sign 
Upon thy tender eyes to shine? 

Look yonder, Love! the morning star! 


59 


AMONG THE LILIES. 


“My beloved is mine and I am his: he feedeth among the 
lilies.” — S ong of Solomon, ii., 13. 

1 FED among the lilies, and the stars 

That keep their ceaseless courses through 
the skies, 

Leaned from the darkened dome, between the 
bars 

Of cloud, to watch with sympathetic eyes. 

In the far south the yellow half-moon swooned, 
Throwing her parting shadows low and long; 
Softly the quivering garden-voices crooned 
To all the weary world a slumber song. 

Through the ambrosial night the fragrant soul 
Of honeysuckle, mignonette and rose, 

Met each with each, and through their sweet- 
ness stole 

The fainter odor of the lily-blows. 


60 


Where is thy breast, Beloved? where the bloom 
Of brow and hair and eyelids? where thy mouth? 
Thine arms? Why floats not through the mystic 
gloom 

Of night thy breath like spices of the South? 

Blind with the want of seeing are my eyes. 

And with the long desire of kisses dumb 
My lips — I can no more — O Love, arise, 

And feed with me among the lilies, Come! 


61 


KprfTTfp EJU.OH. 

(Odyssey, Books III., VI., XV., etc., etc.) 

T HY mouth is as the vase wherefrom of old, 
The hero-men, mingling the ruddy wine, 
Quaffed, while the hours unheeded onwards 
rolled, 

Deep draughts of joy drawn from that bowl di- 
vine. 

For in the dwellings till the red sun sank, 

And darkness filled the streets and night lay 
low, 

About the polished board they sat and drank; 
Such fill of feasting had men long ago. 

Give me to drink out of that fragrant cup, 
Flowing with smiles and kisses and sweet song, 
The breath of life. Look, Love! the sun is up, 
And my soul thirsteth, for the night was long. 


SONG. 

I BROUGHT her strings of shining pearls, 
Jewels amassed through fruitful years; — 
But when they touched her neck they broke, 
All turning into tears. 

I brought her rubies for her hair, 

Those tresses worthy of a crown; — 

But they too melted, through my hands 
The blood came trickling down. 

Oh, blood! oh, tears! oh! fit reward! 

Oh ! Heart too kind, too easy won ! 

When will your anguish have an end? 

When will your day be done? 


63 


SOUVENIR. 

Comme une image qu’ un miroir 
Reflete mal, devenu vieux, 

Ainsi le souvenir d’un soir 
Flotte indecis devant mes yeux. 

Mon paitvre amour, si pale et las! 
Etais-je penchee sur ton lit? 
Parlait-on lentement et bas? 

Quel mot affligeant a-t-on dit? 

Ou, dans le vaste et chaud silence 
Qui nous entourait, est-il vrai 
Que, saisis d’un regret immense, 
Tu gemissais et je pleurai? 


64 


SCHERZO AMOROSO. 

1 CH denke dein, 

Wenn in dem Becher fein 
Funkelt der rothe Wein, 

II vino sardo. 

When all the autumn's hoard. 
Grapes, figs and fungi stored 
On the too generous board, 
Contento guardo. 

A toi je pense 
Quand dans l’azur silence, 
L’onde profonde, immense 
Del mar mi prende. 
When in bright-colored row 
Houses and pine-trees glow. 
And sparkling far below, 
L/acqua si stende. 


65 


But most of all, 

When evening’s shadows fall, 
And the night’s tender call 
Sveglia l’amore, 

Nina, pienso a ti. 

JJoXl TtaXa. ’would be, 

Di! se tu fossi qui 
Sul mio cuorel 


66 


SONG. 

T HE roses blooming, blooming, 
Strewed blossoms on his way; 
No cloud of sorrow looming 
On life’s bright morning lay. 

She passed, a thing of beauty 
So marvellously sweet ; 

Honor he left and duty 
To worship at her feet. 

She cared not that he loved her, 

No word of pity spake; 

No kind compassion moved her 
That one more heart should break. 

The roses falling, falling, 

Lay withered on his grave; 

The Autumn winds went calling: 
Love has no power to save. 


67 


ITALIAN VOLKSLIED. 

O H ! how melancholy 
Of Hesper is the ray. 
When it sparkles slowly 
O’er the dying day. 

The cloudlets, faintly shining 
Like flowers that fade away. 
Seem a garland twining 
For the dying day. 

The heart’s regret and longing 
And joys that cannot stay. 

To the grave are thronging 
With the dying day. 


68 


MINIATURES. 


I. 

A QUESTION. 

The memory of your lips 
Was with me in the night, 

Rose with me in the morning, 
Followed me into the night. 

When next, in a golden halo 
They smile on me, oh! then, 

In flesh as now in spirit, 

Will they touch mine again? 

II. 

AFTERGLOW. 

I slumbered, and peace, the dove. 
Brooded over my bed, 

For folded within my heart 
Were her kisses unnumbered. 

I woke and was alone; — 

And straight a finger of fire 
Burned my flesh and thrilled my soul 
With the flame of the old desire. 

69 


III. 


THE OLD STORY. 

I threw a kiss to the path 
Where we stood alone in the rain, 
And the whole of the brief delight 
Swept over my soul again. 

Her eyes that shone like stars, 

Her hair that glittered like gold, 

And her lips — oh! the old old story! 
So sweet whenever ’tis told. 

IV. 

Kleine Konigin. 

All know not that she is a queen, 
Although she wears a crown of gold, 
But once in a happy moment 
Her secret to me she told. 

Since then she sits upon her throne, 
And in her kingdom holds her sway ; 
And I who am chief courtier 
Her royal nod obey. 

70 


V. 

A DAISY. 

I kissed the flower she gave me, 
And wore it on my breast. 
Praying that all earth’s blessings 
Upon her head might rest. 

That life might be all flowers 
As fresh and fair as this, 

That every day might bring her 
Some pure and perfect bliss. 


71 


FROM THE RUSSIAN. 

I TOOK their gleam from the shining stars, 
From the sun I took its warmth and light; 
I took from the rose its fragrant breath, 

Their purity from the lilies white. 

From the sky I took its endlessness, 

Its deep abysses from the sea; 

Their loftiness from the mountain-tops,— 

And from God I took eternity. 

Then from myself I took my soul 
And fashioned a womanly vision sweet. 

And filled with anguish passionate 
I fell a slave before her feet. 


72 


TO GOETHE. 

T HIS is a love that never fails, 

Though oft and far my fancy rove, 
One word, one mention of thy name 
Wakes in my heart the slumbering flame. 
And all the charm thy image wove 
About my youth again prevails. 


Thou art a star that never pales. 

Across our skies, now near, now wide. 
New comets flash their dazzling way, 
New planets rise, new meteors stray, 
But with thy wisdom for my guide 
I gaze where thy calm light prevails. 

Only thy loss my soul bewails. 
Beloved, gone forevermore! 

Beloved ! passed from mortal ken 
Ere I was numbered among men, — 
That boundless loss I must deplore, 
Although my love o’er loss prevails. 


73 


Yet when thy heights my spirit scales, 
Behold! I find thee very near. 

For, noblest immortality, 

Thou liv’st in us as we through thee, 
And ever sacred, ever dear, 

Thy name o’er death and time prevails. 

HARZ MOUNTAINS, EN ROUTE FOR WEIMAR. 


74 


INDULGENTIA 


Plenaria et perpetua pro 
vivis et defunctis. 

O H ! Thou who makest man ! 

Permitting that within his breast should 
live 

The germs of vice and error, though they thrive, 
Crushing the good, Thou, who design’dst the 
plan, — 

Thou who the secret cause of all canst scan — 
Thou wilt, Thou must forgive. 

And I, a grain of dust, 

Whose feeble knowledge reaches not at all 
Beyond my eyes’ dim sight, who take on trust 
All things, since I know naught, forgive I must 
And will, whate’er befall. 

Thus may I strive towards Thee; 

Thus may my human touch with thy divine; 

And through indulgence, pity, pardon free 
To all that are, whate’er their deed to me, 

Peace shall at least be mine. 


75 


STARWARD. 

I SET my face starward once more. 
From the dark sullen caves 
Where the blast coldly raves, 
Bred of doubt and dissent 
And the foes of content, 

I come out on the ocean’s blue floor. 


What matter if ne’er to the shore 
My frail bark shall arrive? 
There are plenty to strive 
Who, their treasure in hand, 
Will come safely to land — 
More skilful in wielding an oar. 


Ye have heard how One uttered of yore, 
That the children of men 
Must be all born again — 
Through new death to new birth, 
To life’s heaven from life’s earth, 
Me the spirit regenerate bore. 


76 


Though the waves assail fierce as before, 
Though I fall in the fight, 

’Twill be facing the light; — 

And this gleam to have seen 
My achiement has been — 

I set my face starward once more. 


77 


ON A BICYCLE. 

R IDING, riding along the beach, 
And looking out to sea, 

While ever a murmuring line of foam 
Comes curling up to me! 

It may be it is noonday, 

And the great floor of blue 
Sweeps away to the wide horizon, 

One marvelous, matchless hue. 

Or it may be towards sunset, 

And to mark the day’s decline, 

The red flush spreads and deepens 
On the far horizon line. 

Or it seems a store of jewels 
Day has saved up for night, 

For the sea and the sky are opal 
In the last refulgent light. 

The graceful sloops and schooners 
Go gliding to and fro, 

And their sails are snowy at noonday, 
And gold in the evening glow. 

78 


Or perhaps the moon has risen, 

And a pallid, placid star, 

And a flash shoots over the water 
From the island light afar. 

Then you put off your sternness, 

Oh, stern New England shore! 

And are wrapt in a garment of beauty 
That covers you o’er and o’er. 

And eyes half-dimmed with glamour, 
Which Southern suns oft kissed, 

Gaze long on your tranquil landscape, 
Beholding it through a mist. 

While serious, not untender, 

You whisper your prodigal son 

That perhaps in the depths of being, 
After all, you and he are one. 

KITTERY POINT, MAINE. 


79 


TO ROBERT BROWNING. 

F OR thee few words, for language fails 
Where deepest gratitude prevails. 
From morn till night, from youth to age, 
My spirit’s priceless heritage 
My strength and wisdom without end, 
Thou seer, teacher, guide and friend! 

Chief poet of our race and time, 
Messiah-like in thy faith sublime, 

Lamp to the feet, and to the eyes 
An undimmed star! speech cannot rise 
Unto those lofty heights where thou 
Sittest apart — I bow, I bow. 


80 


TANTALUS. 

I N the morning of time, 

* Ere yet the world was old, 

He sat at the gods’ table 

And drank from their cups of gold. 

Hebe brought him nectar, 

And from her hand as fine 
And hollow as a lily 
He took the draught divine. 

He listened while the Muses, 

Jove’s heavenly handmaids, sang, 
While sound of festal banquet 
Through wide Olympus rang. 

And when the perfect master, 
Apollo, smote the lyre, 

High flamed his heart within him, 
Thrilled with a sacred fire. 

Thus dwelt he with immortals, 
Himself almost a god 
Among the gods, nor trembled 
At Jove’s imperial nod. 

81 


And in the solemn councils 
His aiding voice was heard, 

And even the mighty Thunderer 
Would hearken to his word. 

At the forming of the lightning 
He stood and watched the sparks 
Fly from the forge of Vulcan, 
Through the outer lights and darks. 

He learned the laws of being 
And human destinies. 

The might of the whirling planet, 
The strength of the flowing seas. 

He heard the speech of Wisdom, 

And gazed on Beauty’s face, 

And his ear was tuned to the music 
That holds the spheres in place. 

He knew the bounds of heaven, 

The stars’ unswerving course, 

The limits of day and darkness, 

Of good and ill the source. 

82 


But he grew proud, forgetting 
That all this lore and might, 
Was but the high gods’ favor 
And not his native right. 

And some say, waxing boastful, 
He breathed in mortal ear 
The secrets that the Immortals 
And he alone might hear. 

Some say he stole ambrosia 
And nectar from the board 
Divine, to grace his table, 

And furnish out his hoard. 

Enough; — against the Highest 
He sinned, and they who set 
Him erst among them, punished, 
Unmoved, without regret. 

And into deepest Tartarus 
Cast whom short time ago 
They loved, that he might suffer 
Eternities of woe. 


83 


He hungers, — just beyond him 
Hangs fruit he cannot clutch; 

He thirsts, — past floweth water — • 
His lip it will not touch. 

Or ever hangs above him 
A stone about to fall, 

And where he looks is anguish 
And torment over all. 

Oh ! ye to whom is given 
On tireless wings to soar 
To where the mists are riven 
That hide creation’s core. 

Who share in heavenly banquets 
At which the Muses sing, 

And hear celestial laughter 
Across Olympus ring, — 

To whom is taught the secret 
Of e’er recurring birth, 

Of joy and youth unceasing 
That makes a heaven of earth;— 
84 


Be humble and be wary, 
Remembering that your place 
Is yours not through your merit, 
But by the high gods’ grace. 

Nor turn their gifts eternal 
To any use impure; 

Keep clean your heart and spirit, 
And let your love endure. 

Be humble and be wary, 

Cease not to praise and bless, 
And offer up your being 
In constant thankfulness. 

Then may perchance the Immortals 
Forbear to smite and slay. — 

For they alone are mighty, 

You miserable clay 


85 


AFTER THE ANTIQUE. 

I. 

TO APHRODITE. 

( Apollonius of Apollonia prays.) 

G ODDESS ! of all the gods most beautiful ! 
Most powerful too, for though dread 
Zeus unchain 

His awful lightnings, yet thy worshippers 
Care not at all, for fear is lost in love. 

And most divine, for not the radiant One 
Himself, Apollo, Master of sweet song, 

Can so as thou dost teach the world to sing, 
Since most within thy fanes and for thy sake 
Hearts harmonize and throats grow musical. 
Nor can the virgin hunters claim such praise; — 
Lithe maiden limbs may press the tufted grass, 
And light feet weave swift measures in the 
glades, 

Shrill treble voices chanting her chaste hymns 
Meanwhile, but those who do her homage are 
Young, simple souls standing in life’s dim dawn, 
Unconscious of the mad and burning joys 
That wait the lover on the breast of love. 

86 


No, Artemis shall ne’er be peer of thine. 

Nor she protectress of calm wedded bliss 
And household joys, who fain would deem her- 
self 

Equal with Zeus the King, but oft must stoop 
Low as thy lowliest handmaid when her lord 
Turns to some mirror of thy blandishments. 
Nor she the calm and wise Athene, next 
Her sire for aid and counsel, for though men 
Seek wisdom for a season yet they grow 
Sick for the old sweet follies that they knew 
And yearn to clasp some fragrant zone again. 
While proudest triumph, loftiest miracle, 

Ev’n Death the Conqueror his unerring bow 
Breaks at thy feet, owning thee mightier. 

Such is thy power, O, Aphrodite! thou 
Whose kingdom is eternal as the stars. 

Then wilt thou leave me loveless and forlorn? 
When did thy altars ever want for fires 
Where I abode? When failed the snowy doves 
And the dear flowers thou lovest? have I not 
Sung one unvarying theme, — thy name — till shore 
Echoed it unto shore and sea to sea? 

87 


And hearts within the new world and the old 
Learned from my lisping lips to reverence thee? 
Have I not served thee as a slave whose fate 
Hangs on the passing pity of a queen? 

(A frown — away with him! a smile — he’s 
saved;) 

And did not all my soul go nigh to break 
With gratitude when thy smile crowned me? 

Now 

In the far land of sunrise has the star 
Of love gone down for me? indifferent thou, 
Must I, thy votary, in this chill clime 
Wander through trackless snows as cold as 
they? 

Immortal goddess! let not such things be. 
Behold! there is not any time to lose, 

For the years wane and vanish; I shall see 
The ebon turn to silver on my brow, 

The light die in my eyes, decriptitude 
Set its dull seal upon the sinewy limbs 
Moulded to run thy races, and my heart 
Shrivel before the evil touch of time; 

88 


And songs will cease, and laughter, maids will 
flee 

From me scarcely pursuing, and deride: 

That man a lover! lo! he is grown old. 

Quick, while the sap of life flows full and strong 
Along my veins and dyes a blooming cheek, 
While my pulse throbs with passion and my 
sense 

I swift, and I am fit to be thy priest, 

Kindle within some breast a flame whereat 
My own may light itself, and loose thy fires 
As in those days thou knowest when we watched 
In the still chamber, I and thou and she 
When the shy planets hid and not a spark 
Of outer being touched the soft retreat 
Where thine eyes made the light, thy breath the 
heat, 

And her white bosom heaved in an embrace 
Fiercer than hate and more desired than heaven. 

See! here I bring more doves and songs and 
flowers, 

Dear Aphrodite, hear and answer me! 

89 


II. 


THREE SHADES. 

(Dis Manibus.) 

Place: Frascati. Time about A. D. 160. 

T HE surly boatman would not stay his oar 
Although I clamored at the water’s edge, 
Having thus far followed my darling friends, 
There made to pause, my hour not being come, 
And no room for me in the crowded boat. 

Into my tear-stained, fever, blinded eyes 
One shade looked back regretful, or me seemed 
That sorrow stamped its features, then the night 
Swooped down with raven pinions, and they 
passed, 

They whom I loved and the indifferent freight, 
Over the waveless and unechoing stream, 

Into the blackness of the farther shore. 

Three times has Fate thus smote me, three times 
swept, 

Like a fierce withering Tramontana wind, 

90 


Blowing adown the Apennines, across 
The sweetly blossoming Summer of my heart, 
Chilling it into Autumn. 


You are kind; — 

Besides, the gods bless you with patience, gift 
So rare that they who have it not know not 
How high it ranks among the virtues. Fill 
Again your cup with old Falernian wine 
Our Horace loved, and listen to my tale — 

A garrulous old man’s lonely, bereft, 

But with the tender memories of the past 
Kept fresh and green, watered by heavenly dews 
Drawn from the fountains of eternal youth. 

’Tis not so hard a task to sit and drink, 

Wooed by the beauty of the Roman Spring, 
Attuned by sweetest scents and softest airs 
To sympathy with tales of by-gone love! 

How gold the pines glow in the afternoon! 

How the wild rose flings high its graceful 
sprays ! 

And the white honeysuckle, virginal 
As our own vestals, clambers up the bank 

9 * 


Its stalk bedded in violets. Now look 
Across the wide campagna, all a-bloom 
With villas and their gardens. There It lies, 
Our city, Rome, imagined more than seen, 

A misty group of marble palaces; 

While farther to the East the gleaming line 
Where earth and sky embrace denotes the sea. 

The tender Southern heavens descend so low, 
Yearning towards the earth, it almost seems 
As if, climbing upon our arbor’s roof, 

Our hands might plunge into those azure depths, 
Pierced here and there by solemn cypresses 
That lift their sombre slender shafts on high 
Like notes of warning against too great joy, 
Displeasing to the gods. Is it not true 
This scene, this and one other that we know, 
Where the blue waves of the Tyrrhenian sea 
Lave the curved shores of fair Neapolis, 

While down Vesuvius’ purple flanks the smoke 
Presses a snowy pillar, or in light 
And foam-like wreaths climbs upwards, and the 
bold 

Capraean highlands rise across the bay — 

92 


Is it not true that scenes so lovely lend 
A double sting to death? ’Twere easier far, 

If fate had cast us on some barbarous shore, 
To die and let oblivion lap us round. 

But to leave all this beauty! Oh! I grieve 
For them who passed before and for us all 
Who needs must follow them. Alas! my friend, 
This is the shadow of the living sun. 

And yet — ’tis strange — pledge me once more, 

I think 

Odysseus must have been my ancestor, 

Such love of roving had I in my blood; 

Greek blood too in my veins. My mother was 
The fairest Chian maid the sun e’er kissed. 
My first friend was a Greek. When the light 
down 

Of manhood just began to dye my lip, 

He knew and straightway loved me ; he the friend 
Counsellor of our lord, the orphan I, 

With naught but boyish beauty and a heart 
And mind untutored, waiting to be trained. 

He was already in the prime of life, 

Tall, of commanding presence, noble gait 
93 


Broad and imposing gesture; like a god 
Except in tricksy moods never revealed 
To strangers, when he threw the godhead off, 
Seeming a wild and wanton forest faun. 

His eagle eyes pierced to one’s inmost soul, 

Yet held such wells of tenderness their charm 
Drew to the lips the trembling hearts of all 
Who in confiding speech a respite sought 
From secret sorrow. I have seen strong men 
Weep at his eloquence, women applaud 
As he passed by, or hold their children up 
To look upon the great and glorious man. 

Nor orator alone, a poet he was 
Whose song flowed like a stream of molten gold 
Studded with gems of wisdom and high thought. 
“King,” his friends called him, and the approving 
years 

Had laid upon his ebon locks a wreath 
Of silver like a coronet or crown. 

We passed together in the emperor’s train 
To distant lands and dwelt in Athens. Thus 
I grew in years, and thanks to him, in grace. 
Oh ! I remember as ’twere yesterday, 

The first resistance of reluctant youth, 

94 


The gradual yielding, the abandonment 
At last of soul and body to that will 
So potent yet so kindly. What he taught 
My shallower mind drank to its power’s extent, 
And I became, so the world’s verdict ran, 

Not all unworthy of my master. Ten 
Long happy years we lived in ties of close 
Companionship and closest love; his thought 
Never once swerved from me. I was his pride, 
His joy, his darling; and I gave him back 
Tenderest friendship, and our bond was blest. 
Then the end came. My master sent me once 
Upon a distant mission in his stead, 

And while I hastened on the homeward way, 

A swift malignant fever struck him down, 

And I but reached the gates of Rome in time 
To follow to the grave my dearest friend, 

Chief mourner at the sumptuous funeral 
The emperor ordered. 

Let us pray the gods 

To die like him, with talents unimpaired, 
Though perchance nigh to failing, at the height 
Of fame and power suddenly snatched away 
95 


Before the flesh could tremble or spirit swerve, 
Alive to all the dear delights of earth, 

Beloved and loving. 


And the gods are good. 
Have you not found that when your need was 
sore 

Help rose from some all-unimagined source? 
The ill creates the remedy, it seems. 

Thus while my lacerated heart still bled 
The influence of that Second One I loved. 
Fell like a soothing balm upon its wounds. 

The second was a woman, wondrous fair, 
Blue-eyed and golden-haired, and with a voice 
Sweeter than e’er a flute’s most dulcet tone. 
She among women was a queen, as he 
Had been a king ’mongst men. Long did I woo 
Before her proud heart softened to my suit, 

But then, what triumph and what joy were 
mine! 

Her kiss unsealed my lips to song, her high 
Pure spirit woke all slumbering germs of good 
And great my bosom harbored, and her sweet 

96 


High counsel ruled my life. She lifted me 
Into the lofty realms where she abode 
With peace and beauty for her handmaids, where 
Discord was mute and dead all hateful things. 
Like notes united in full harmony 
Our beings blended ; but her fervid soul 
Yearning for insight into mysteries 
The gods have wisely hid from us, too fine, 

Too pure to breathe the common air or bear 
The earthy yoke the "world’s ways lay on us, 
Fretted her body till the link was loosed 
’Twixt flesh and spirit, then severed, and she 
went 

To meet Fate’s summons, and I was alone. 

How shall I tell you of the Third? How find 
Language to paint the winsome wayward youth 
Who, like a luminous point upon the brink 
Of my horizon rose, grew like the sun, 

And lit my life as the sun lights the world? 

The perfect Cupid’s bow that formed his mouth 
Invited kisses, and the surging blood 
Obedient to each swiftly changing mood, 

97 


Now flushed his clear cheek red, now left it 
pale. 

His nut-brown curls shaded a marble brow, 

His eyes now danced with petulance, now shone 
With mild and languid light that changed the 
face, 

Softening it into perfect loveliness, 

Like the moonlight beneath whose gentle floods 
A landscape puts all harshness off and breathes 
Nothing but beauty. Thus the past returned, 
Reversed, for mine now was the father’s care, 
The older friend’s solicitude, the right 
To guard and cherish. ’Round that youth my 
life 

Revolved, his will my law; and every pang 
The human heart can feel he made me feel; 
Doubt, jealousy, despair — I knew them all, 

Yet welcomed for his sake. Oh! then I knew 
My whole life spent in learning how to love 
Was but the preparation for this end. 

But when my being broken upon the wheel 
Of sacrifice, had burst all bounds of self, 
Living and breathing, joying but in him, 

Fate conquered love and he was rent away. 

98 


And now I walk alone, fain to evoke 
The shades, if once more I would converse hold 
With that bright trinity whose guardian wings 
Soothed and upbore me on my changeful path. 
And despite mortal woes made that path heaven. 
I do not mean I never loved but these. 

Venus presided at my birth and she 
And her dear son were my divinities. 

The flowers of love and friendship ever bloomed 
Like thick-strewn daisies all along my way; 

But these three forms which through the turbid 
veil 

Of my poor speech your eye has dimly seen, 
Were different from the rest, — apart, above; 
These were the types of knowledge, beauty, 
youth, 

That shaped my life and made me what I am. 
Gone now forever as my life descends. 
Forever? yes, the strong wise man, and she, 
The woman beautiful beyond compare, 

Merged in the mist of unforgotten loss, 

Yet irrecoverable, are no more. 

These two have passed to Hades. But the third ? 


99 


A voice arose in distant climes and times 
Echoing in Eleusis and borne down 
To our own day in Mithra’s mystic rites, 
Whispering of reunion after death, 

Of meetings which no second partings mar, 

Of never-ending life in mutual joy. 

This strange new sect the empire tolerates 
Makes this the chief bait to its followers. 

Might it then be that its offensive husk 
Holds one pure kernel of eternal truth? 

The impulse dwelling in the breast of man 
Towards new spheres of ever-widening power, 
May it mean something more than self-conceit? 
Is it the prescience of an unknown law? 

Of life undying and undying love? 

Those two are gone forever; — even if souls 
Endure and meet on some Elysian field, 

They have advanced too far beyond my ken, 
The bond is loosed that held us; they would 
bring 

Strangeness to me, I dissonance to them. 

But what if when across the icy wave 
Old Charon rows me, on the farther shore 


ioo 


Should stand that youth Antinous-like and 
stretch 

Fond arms to meet me, claiming me his own! 
How the thought makes my heart beat! 

But all this 

Is vain and idle talk, for these things lie 
On the gods’ knees, and we must rest content, 
Knowing their might but not what they decree. 

The flask is almost empty, and the chill 
Of sunset steals into the mellow air. 

Like a dark cloak clasped by a golden brooch 
The purple mantle of the dusk is pinned 
About earth’s shoulders by the crescent moon. 
But that will vanish soon, and the blue fringe 
Of light beyond the paling West grow dim 
Ere the recurrent glory of the stars 
Awakes. Let us go in, but first — one more 
Libation to our masters, Love and Death. 


ioi 


III. 


THANK OFFERING. 

Y E who abide forever above 

Crumbling dwellings of mortals, 
Where the soft slopes perfect with peace 
Stretch of thrice-blessed Olympus, 
Careless of all that passes below, 

Of evil careless and good, — 
Careless of Time, worker of ill, 
Though like an arrow shot from the bow, 
It speeds and leaves the quiver bare, 

But you it touches never — 

Yet who, 'tis said, careless of all 
Things, of one not unheedful 
Are, when your praise cleaveth the air, 
Chanted by men god-fearing. 

Then you incline a listening ear, 
And on your glorious faces 
Glimmer perchance shadows of smiles 
While the song sweeps up to your feet. 

If this be so, listen to me, 

And accept my thank-offering. 


102 


Cruel ye are, I have seen it, have heard 
Wailings of women, wailings of men, 

Wailings of children torn rudely away 
From the hand that should guard them securely 
and safe, 

Wailings of women bereft of their lords, 
Homeless and hopeless amid a waste world, 
Wailings of strong men grown sick with despair, 
With black blasted hearts like a cinder burnt 
out, 

Wailings of old men imploring for death. 

And war, the red spectre sweeps savagely by, 
And the plains stream with rivers of blood, 

And pestilence follows and famines arise 
And freshets destroy — and never you lift a finger 
to save. 

But unto me ye apportioned the load 
That my strength might endure; my burden is 
light. 

In the dim halls of being the Three sat and wove 
Through the sombre-patched web one bright gol- 
den thread 

And gave it to me to hold in my hand; 

And ye let it be; 

Nor ever wert minded to tangle or break 

?°3 


The most precious gift. 

For this, O Immortals! I praise you, for this 
I bring you thank-offering. 

First do I thank you for love ; 

Love the first boon and the first consolation 
Bestowed upon mortals; 

For all the blest hours, for the blending of 
bosoms, 

The half-stifled whispers, the swift rain of kisses 

Falling hotter than flame and softer than snow- 
flakes, 

For the clasp of the palm, 

For the bright bare breast and the gleam of the 
shoulder, 

The quivering of limbs intertwined, for the 
dusky 

Veil of the hair or its golden shimmer, 

For the rapture of sleep and the yet more rap- 
turous awaking 

Into the kingdom of lovers. 

(He is a king whom love crowneth, although he 
may 

Tread but a short space with faltering footstep 
That kingdom enduring forever.) 

1 04 


Next you for beauty I thank. 

Smile of the dawn as it kisses the mountain- 
tops, bright hues of flowers, 
Green-swarded valleys, the sapphire-paved ocean- 
floor, 

Spotless and snowy forms carved by the sculp- 
tor. 

Carved as your likeness whom men shall see 
never ; 

The semblance in color of all fair creations, 
Poetry mounting on golden-tipped pinions 
Far from earth to its source in your own perfect 
dwellings, 

And bringing back tidings of you; 
Harmonies rising from silver-toned instruments, 
Wafting the soul into regions ineffable, 

Regions abounding in peace and acceptance 
With all else forgotten — 

For these, adoring, I thank you. 

Then, and not the least I thank you 
For the oft-recurring sadness 
Which no mortal breast escapes. 


105 


For the long and tearful vigils, 

For the grief-obsciired mornings. 

For the bitterness and woe. 

How else had I felt my eyelids 
Moisten at the griefs of others? 

Had I trod no thorny road, 

How had I divine compassion 
Learned, and more divine forbearance? 
How, had I no burden known, 

Had my heart, grown broad through knowl- 
edge, 

Borne the burdens of its brothers, 

Borne their burdens as its own? 

Love refused as well as granted 
Leaves its sanctifying impress 
On the earnest lover’s heart. 

And for every time the maiden 
Turned aside, her gift refusing 
To my outstretched ardent arms, 

Do I thank you and revere you — 

Even that loss was not all loss. 

He who knows the weary sickness 
Of love unreturned and hopeless, 

106 


Finds perchance some helpful word 
That may fall like healing balsam 
On the wounds of them that suffer; — 

For in spite of present gladness, 

In remembrance does his bosom 
Beat in unison with theirs. 

Last do I thank you for the glow 
Of health that lendeth to my veins 
Strength to receive your bounties; 

And that ye touched, gracious, my voice that it 
might sing 

You, and your gifts bless and extol, 

Knowing your gifts are mighty. 

For the new germs stirring again deep in my 
breast 

In the new Spring ever returning that ye 
vouchsafe me. 

For this I thank you that have been 
Gracious of old, praying ye be 
Gracious still, inclining your ear 
Unto this my thank-offering. 


107 


Lean from Olympus, Immortals ! ye gods 
Lean, listen, accept! 

The sacrificial flames arise 
From blossom-wreathed altars, 

Mingled with incense doth my song sweep up to 
you, 

Bursting the confines all of space 
With praise and thanks, 

Thanks and still thanks forever. 


BENEDICTION. 

I KISSED thy pillow, 

* In secret, unknown to thee; 

Desiring ardently 
That, like the soft Spring wind 
Blowing across the gentle sea wherein nestles our 
island, 

Whispering a promise of Summer, 

Lulling the flowers to sleep at evening, 
Waking the buds on the trees with a kiss. 
My tender breath might bring 
Rest and the boon of refreshing slumber 
And joyous awakening 
To thy pillow. 

I wept upon thy pillow, 

In secret unknown to thee; 

Desiring ardently 
That, like the April showers 
Piercing earth’s flanks with soft persistency, 
Waking the hidden germs in her depths, 
Making her breast to blossom anew with the 
glory of Springtime, 


These drops thus shed for thee, 

Might penetrate thy bosom, 

Moisten its parched tides, 

Bring the dream of a new Spring 
With blessing of new creation 
To thy pillow. 

Kisses and tears upon thy pillow ! 

That which makes up the sum of life! 

Love and Grief, those guardians of our existence, 
Into whose arms Fate consigns us 
At the portals of being — 

Love, with elastic step, 

With radiant fillet whose light makes the sun 
turn pale, — 

Grief, shrouded in sombre garments, 

With heavy tread, — 

Love and Grief with their attendant symbols. 
Kisses and tears, watch 
Beside thy pillow. 


no 


A SEA SONG. 

L IKE the sea our island home caressing, 
My beloved, I would be to thee; 
Penetrating with perpetual blessing 
Like the sea. 

Changeful seeming though no change there be, 
Mood and need of every moment guessing, 
Lashed to passion, resting peacefully. 

Every inlet of thy thought possessing, 
Yielding ever, ever leaving free, 

Filling every void, never oppressing, 

Like the sea. 


hi 


A SUPPLIANT. 

A SUPPLIANT ever I remain, and thou, 

Mindful or heedless of my heart’s en- 
deavor, 

Wilt know me as thou knew’st and know’st me, 
now, 

A suppliant ever. 

In vain my path might favoring fortune sever 
From lowly ways, or bind upon my brow 
Roses or laurels that should bloom forever, — 

He whom love brands his slave can disallow 
The august claim of his high sovereign never, 
But at his master’s feet must surely bow, 

A suppliant ever. 


112 


RESEDA. 

TO HEINE. 

(“Nur mit der schlimmen Reseda 
Lass’ ich mich nicht mehr ein .") 

U PON thy grave so bare and drear and cold, 

I poured the tribute that thy soul would 
crave, 

Yet laid the flower thou did’st not love of old 
Upon thy grave. 

What matters it? Death with its mighty wave 
Has reconciled thy loves and hates, they fold 
In one embrace thy spirit high and brave; 

And thy true resting-place is where we hold 
Thy memory in our memory strong to save; — 
Heaping fresh flowers and crowns of pearl and 
gold 

Upon thy grave. 


II 3 


THOU ONLY. 

N O one but thee will I set on the throne 
Built of my spirit’s pearl and ivory; 

For liege and sovereign lady will I own 
No one but thee. 

As mountain freshets to the eternal sea, — 

As sand-heaps to a mountain — as a tone 
To a full band’s concentrate harmony — 

So are the loves that in my heart have grown 
And vanished — peace to their light ashes be! — 
Beside the love that burns for thee alone, 

No one but thee. 


AGAINST THE BARS. 

A GAINST the bars of fate we beat in vain, 
We felt the force that hope and genius 
mars, 

We saw our comrades fall about us, slain 
Against the bars. 

But we were as the gods whose glorious cars 
Swept conquering through the sky; we should 
attain, 

We should embrace and overcome the stars. 

Alas! the fight is over; broken with pain 
Worn out with ceaseless struggling, seared with 
scars, 

We yield — no will even left us to complain 
Against the bars. 


COULD WE BUT MEET! 

C OULD we but meet with those whose high 
discerning 

Has made our lives more high and fine and 
sweet ; 

Those who our daily meed of praise are earning 
Could we but meet! 

The poet band who passed beyond the heat 
Of Time to spheres whence there is no return- 
ing, 

However human need its call repeat. 

How they would find the incense flame kept burn- 
ing, 

The ointment ready to annoint their feet, 

The gifts of tears and laughter, love and yearn- 
ing, 


Could we but meet! 


YOU AND I. 

Y OU and I have touched the depths together, 
Climbed the heights where love and lethe 
lie; 

Sailed the seas in fair and stormy weather, 

You and I. 

Nought too low for us and nought too high 
We have dragged the pearls up from the nether 
Darkness, pulled the stars down from the sky. 

Though it lie as lightly as a feather, 

Iron is the bond Fate binds us by; — 

Darling, life and death we’ll face together, 

You and I. 


CORONATION. 

T HEY wear a crown for me who once have 
blest 

My life with love — though later break in twain 
The bonds that held us, still do they remain 
Dear, consecrated, separate from the rest. 

Like those Madonnas that with jewels drest 
Rule from their glittering shrines their suppliant 
train, 

So deckt with gems of grateful thought they 
reign, 

Enthroned upon the altar of my breast. 

Thus thou who last when the Spring groves were 
green 

Walk’dst hand in hand with me love’s pleasant 
ways, 

While from the flowers their inmost sweets we 
stole, 

Wear’st on thy golden head the aureole 
That on its chosen ones my spirit lays, 

And reignest in my memory as a queen. 


uS 


DREAM-LOVE. 

S O strangely shadowy grew thy memory, 

Dear, 

I scarcely could believe there did exist 
Once, in real truth, all that my life now missed, 
The gentle warmth, the sunshine and the cheer. 
But as in dreams their phantom shapes appear, 
Merging, caressing, clinging as they list, 

So did it seem my spirit must have kissed 
With thine, and now the waking hour was here. 
Child of my soul ! rebuke this garish day, 

And bid it hasten to its destined close 
Beneath the brooding pinions of the night. 

The hours but wait thy mandates to obey, 

Oh ! let them bear me quickly to repose 
With the dreamland of my old delight. 


Ilapid 

B EYOND the limits of the morn, where noon 
Begins to verge towards evening’s dimmer 
flower, 

A bright-winged shape sought my secluded 
bower, 

And placed within my hand a priceless boon. 
“Tenderly cherish, lest it pass too soon, 

This precious pledge of thy immortal dower,” 
He whispered softly, and by his sweet power 
Entranced, I sank in an ecstatic swoon. 

Paris did not award to me the prize; — 

Too lowly with immortals to contend, 

No human rivals rose my right to claim. 

For Love himself, with sad yet smiling eyes, 
Gave Paris to me, and his own breath did blend 
Our separate beings in one single flame. 


120 


UNDIVIDED. 

W E were divided by tradition, race. 

Speech, education; all that chance may 
strew 

Of obstacles, themselves between us threw 
To sunder like untraversable space. 

But all these fled or fell, and face to face 
We stood, hands seeking hands. Oh! then we 
knew 

From the same bounteous breast our life we 
drew, 

And our soul’s lineage to one source could trace. 
What is the bond of kindred, friends or home 
Beside this strange indissoluble tie 
With which Fate holds us welded soul to soul? 
What matter though the sea between us roll, 
Though separate o’er the whole wide globe we 
roam? 

We never can be parted— thou and I. 


REX SEMPER AMORIS GRATIA. 

I WAS but young when Love, the sovereign 
lord, 

Descending, said to me: “Thou art my own; 
From thee mature the seed that I have sown, 

And for thee flow in wine the grapes I stored. 
I set thee over many realms; — my hoard 
Be thine to scatter even as chaff is blown.” 

Thus came I to my kingdom and my throne, 
And reigned a king through Love’s almighty 
word. 

But now the days wane and it waxeth late. 
Grow I not dull? Hold not my flock aloof 
From me? Should I not lay the sceptre down? 
Love’s voice resounds: “Thou shalt not abdi- 
cate; 

Still thou deserv’st my favor ;” and for proof 
He gives me thee as last most precious crown. 


123 


THE CHOICE. 

W OULD I could choose the sweet and sim- 
ple way! 

Could clip the spirit’s will that yearn for flight 
To spheres unimageable, heavenly, bright, 

And in the shelter of thy bosom stay. 

Thy love is like a clear, consoling ray 
That from some cottage-window cleaves the 
night, 

Bidding the guest to comfort, warmth and light; 
I fain would enter could I dare delay. 

’Tis vain; a pearl — and emerald-studded car 
Awaits; the charioteer with streaming curls 
And lustrous eyes beckons — the pale earth 
swoons — 

I mount — the winged steeds soar aloft, and far 
From thy still home its freight the chariot whirls 
Beyond the limits of the suns and moons. 


123 


SAVED. 

I HEARD the trailing skirts of Nemesis. 

They swept across my path, then nearer 
came. 

She stooped, and all my blood, a towering flame, 
Leapt up expectant of her awful kiss. 

But from her lips there came a hollow hiss, 
Rather than speech, through which I heard my 
name. 

“Thou hast not oft forgot me; for this same,” 
She said, “deserved shipwreck thou shalt miss.” 
Then as upon the ground I prostrate lay, 
Trembling and cowed and broken, she held up 
A warning finger, — then she went her way. 

O Fate! thy mercy’s token I obey. 

I would not taste of that most bitter cup 
Thou fill’dst for me, yet spar’dst me on that day. 


124 


NIHIL HUMANI, ETC 

A RIVULET that an outstretched arm might 
span, 

Placidly flowing from its parent springs, 

Doomed to reflect but few and native things — 
Such seemed my life’s course when my life be- 
gan. 

But myriad streams warm from the heart of 
man, 

Rushings of waters as of mighty wings 
It met, and swelled with all these gatherings, 
Like a great river onward then it ran. 

Now like the central sea whose bosom hides 
Within its ungauged depths all confluent tides, 
Existence grandly sweeps toward its goal. 

For of all human weal and woe — all fate 
Made manifest in little or in great, 

An answering echo vibrates in my souL 


125 


TO WALT WHITMAN. 

O POET! if I had been as strong of soul 
As thou, I too had chanted songs like 
thine. 

Had sung the mingled human and divine 
Of all the tides that through our pulses roll. 
Virtue and vice stamped on one smoothed-out 
scroll, 

The deeds that shame us and the deeds that shine, 
Wild natural joys dazing the brain like wine, 
The laws that loose, the passions that control. 
But weaker seed yields poorer harvest, we 
Where thou hast grasped the whole but por- 
tions share, 

And raise but feeble echoings of thy psalm, 
Prophet of hardier races yet to be ! 

Singer of all the fearless, all who dare 
Look in the face of things without a qualm ! 


126 


SHELLEY. 


i. 

H E sang the Titan’s woes and victory, 

Himself a Titan through whose giant mind 
Astounding shapes swept swifter than the wind, 
And than the wind more grand and high and free. 
Ever his ardent vision seemed to see 
Amid the glorious structures he designed 
Of poetry, the weal of human-kind, 

A reign of hope and love and liberty. 

Stilled is that heart, so loyal and so brave, 

Within the compass of a funeral urn, 

Beneath the shade of cypresses and pines. 

But sweet as violets blooming on the grave 
His voice remains, and bright his proud verse 
shines 

As in the skies the deathless planets burn. 


127 


II. 

COR CORDIUM. 

A LL that the water and the fire have spared, 
The purifying elements that blend 
With the remembrance of thy early end 
Whom the gods loved, now with the earth is 
shared. 

Amid a scene of beauty unimpaired 
By blot or stain, upon the grave descend 
The cypress shadows while above extend 
Such realms of splendor as thy verse declared. 

O Heart of Hearts ! repose beneath the sod. 

The immortal spirit marvellously great 
Has found on heights of fame its glorious seat. 
With flaming wings and garments of a god, 

Upon those mountain-peaks it keeps its state 
While Time rolls up our plaudits to his feet. 


n8 


III. 

S HELLEY ! thou loveliest and most like a god 
Whom our cold race has nurtured, not 
thy verse 

Alone, although its flame-like strains rehearse 
Music of realms celestial, makes the sod 
Holy that hides thy heart — but that no clod 
Of petty thought, no graceless deed, no curse 
Of hatred or revenge, no choice of worse 
Cumbered the lofty path thy spirit trod. 

The grave is no unfitting goal for men 
Who toil and faint, longing for rest ; but thou ! 
Thou shouldst have lived through ages yet un- 
told; 

The march of human progress to behold, 

And thyself brought within thy fellows’ ken, 
And vindicated and beloved as now. 


129 


WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 

A S one who walks through stately palace halls 
Flashing with pictures and the stainless 
pride 

Of marble statues, charmed and gratified 
With all that soul and senses most enthralls, 

I wandered through life’s chambers, and the 
walls 

Bore beauteous images save where one side 
Was hid from sight. What lies, I, curious, cried, 
Apart, where the concealing curtain falls? 

Then the grim guardian Fate one jealous fold 
Lifted ; one breathless moment did I view 
What mortal eye, perhaps, had never seen; 
Besides which all my joy was worn and cold, 
Blasted to dust the treasure that I knew — 

The bliss — the glory of what might have been. 


130 


MONT BLANC. 

(From Chatelard to Chamouny.) 

A LONG the valley crept the gathering dark: 
Above the huge green glacier rose the 
height 

Of the great king of mountains where the light 
Of dying day had set its amorous mark. 

Rosy it glowed, and like the giant ark 
Riding the flood, so showed it in its might 
Among the tracts of snow and ice till night 
Robbed the red summit of its last faint spark. 
But when the dusk had closed o’er field and wood, 
A wondrous vision seemed to meet the eye, 

Of Sinai where the feet of Moses trod; 

For lighting with its radiance all the sky, 

Above the night the snowy summit stood, 

Like a white seraph mounting up to God. 


DURING MUSIC. 

B EYOND this planet where men delve and 
plod, 

Borne as on pinions by the rapturous call 
Of voices that the inmost soul enthrall, 

I reach a realm where mortal foot ne’er trod ; 
And unappalled by Jove’s almighty nod, 

At golden tables sit, and taste of all 
Divine delights, secure from sudden fall 
Through jealous mood, — no Titan but a god. 

Nay, higher yet, to that infinity 

Whence gods themselves arise, O heavenly art ! 

Upon thy healing wings thou bearest me ; 

Where peace and acquiescence flood the soul, 
Where Law abides, and every jangling part 
Is merged and solved in the harmonious whole. 


132 


THE MUSICIANS. 

A S when a stammering infant on its knees, 
Folding its baby hands, with anxious care 
Repeats its mother-taught, first simple prayer, 
Nor yet the words’ mysterious sense can seize, — 
So from the cradle mocked with mysteries, 
Vainly we seek their meaning to declare; — 

To this strange house of life set round with snare 
And gin, the Builder has denied the keys. 

Only the Great Ones who their structures rear 
In tones, not words, in each transcendent hall 
Set voices free that comfort for awhile. 

From height to height, from deep to deep they 
call; 

Almost they seem to make the problem clear, 

And where they cannot solve they reconcile. 


133 


AT BOGLIASCO. 

HE noble headland that defines the bay, 



1 The bright-hued little villages that shine 
Like groups of opals at the day’s decline, 

The gold-tipped pines and olives silvery gray, 
The calm blue sea whereon the sunbeams play, 
Flinging a glittering veil, the distant line 
Of snow-clad hills — all in one speech combine: 
We shall be here when you have passed away. 
Then fill your eyes with the enchanting scene 
We offer, and all pictures like to this 
Paint in unfading colors on your heart ; — 

That you may know at last your life did glean 
Upon its wandering path all Nature’s bliss, 

And steeped in beauty calmly may depart. 


134 


SEMPRE AVANTI SAVOIA! 

F ORWARD, Savoy! He heard the cry resound, 
Not on the field of battle where the slain 
Cry out for vengeance, and the fight to gain 
Means fame and power and days with glory 
crowned. 

No — in the form most hideous death has found, 
From beds whereon his people writhed in pain 
It came. To his great heart the course was plain ; 
To soothe and succor on the poisoned ground. 
The love of sovereigns is not of our days ; 

But thou among their names held dear on earth, 
Beside thy glorious sire’s has placed thy own. 
Forward and ever forward! Be thy praise 
A grateful nation’s care; for thou hast shown, 

O King ! what royalty may yet be worth. 


♦On the breaking out of the cholera in Naples, King 
Humbert hastened thither and visited the patients in all the 
hospitals. 


135 


PARSIFAL. 

IR ist ’s als ob ich schwebt,’ der Welt en- 



1 V 1 triickt, 

In hoh’ren Spharen wo das holde Klingen 
Himmlischer Chore, wie auf weichen Schwingen, 
Die Seele sauft erhebet und entziickt. 

Die schweren Lasten die das Herz gedriicket, 
Das ewig mit den neid ’schen Machten Ringen, 
Traumahnlich schwinden, wie das siisse Singen 
Gemiith und Sinn befriedigt und begliickt. 

Ritter des Grals! wenn in des Lichtes Kranz 
Auf jene Schaar der Heil’ge Geist sinkt nieder 
Die dich als Konig und Erloser kront — 

Vor meinem Aug’ zeigt sich des Himmels Glanz, 
In meine Brust der Liebe Geist kehrt neicfer 
Und mich mit Tod und Leben still versohnt. 


136 


DELIVERANCE. 

E VEN as the sculptur’s chisel flake on flake 
Scales off the marble till the beauty pent 
Sleeping within the block’s imprisonment, 
Beneath the wounding strokes begins to wake — 
So love which the high gods have chosen to make 
Their sharpest instrument has shaped and bent 
The stubborn spirit tills it yields content 
Its few and slender graces for love’s sake. 

But the perfected statue proudly rears 
Its whiteness for the world to see and prize, 

The past hurt and buried in forgetfulness. 
While the imperfect nature, grown more wise, 
Turns with its new-born good, the streaming 
tears 

Of pain undried, the chastening hand to bless. 


137 


REQUITAL. 

M Y hands were full of jewels which I cast 

Into each outstretched palm upon my road ; 
Too prodigal, careless when once bestowed, 

Who let them fall again, who held them fast. 
But now my store is gone, and half aghast, 

I find that one must reap as he has sowed, 

For few are left to help me with the load 
Of pebbles that I carry at the last. 

Yet here and there in some bright diadem, 

Worn on a brow still high with hope and pride, 
Flashing I see a rare and costly gem. 

It once was mine, denuded and decried : 

“Not quite in vain I did it unto them,” 

I muse, and smile, not all unsatisfied. 


138 


QUAND M£ME. 

W HEN my hour strikes, 

And my dislikes and likes, 
Hatreds and many loves, 

Like flocks of weary doves, 

Fold all their burnished wings. 
And passing out of things 
I am no more — 

Ev’n at that hour 
Oh ! let my splendid dower 
Of joy and light 
Rise up before my sight, 

Mocking the flushing skies, 

Paling the paradise 
To which those souls aspire 
Who on this earth here higher 
Soared never more. 

Nor, looking back, 

Shall I cry: Wo! alack! 

Gentle the hand that led, 

And light upon my head 
The weight of life 
Much bliss and little strife. 

139 


Remembering this, 

On the lips death shall kiss, 
Smiling the while, 

Shall rest an answering smile 
forevermore. 

But not too late 
Reach me, oh! call of Fate! 
While my heart still can beat, 
While my feet still are fleet 
Walking love’s ways, 

While my voice still can praise. 
Into the night 
Call me where glad daylight 
Pierces no more. 

And — one more boon — 

Let it be late or soon 
When it is done 
Let it be done ; no sun 
Rise on another land, 

But the grave’s icy band 
Hold me, securely keep, 

That I may only sleep , 

Sleep evermore. 


140 


PART III. 


FROM THE SPANISH OF 
GUSTAVO BECQUER 
1836—1870. 



I. 



IKE the breeze that dries the blood 


Upon the darkening battle-field, 
Laden with perfumes and sweet sounds, 
In the vague silence of the night ; — 

Symbol of tenderness and grief, 

The English bard in awful verse 
The sweet Ophelia paints, who, mad, 
Passes with flowers and with song. 


3 


II. 


Sometimes I meet her in “the world/* 

She passes close to me : 

She passes smiling and I say : 

How can she laugh ? 

Then to my lips rises another smile,— 

It is the mask of pain, — 

And then I think Perhaps she only laughs 
As I do now ! 


4 


III. 


I ventured to the deepest depths 
Of earth and of the heavens, 

And saw their bounds; or with my eyes, 
Or with my spirit’s eye. 

But ah ! a heart’s abyss I reached, 

And over bent to see, 

But both my soul and eyes recoiled, 

So deep it was, so black! 


5 


IV. 


Why, my child, are thine eyes green? 
Green as the sea, thou complainest. 
Green are the eyes of the Naiads, 
Green are those of Minerva, 

And green, too, are the eyes 
Of the houris of the prophet. 

Green is the gala garment 
Of the groves in Springtime; 

Among its seven colors, 

Brilliant, the rainbow shows it. 

Green are emeralds also; 

Who hopes has green for his color; 
And green are the waves of Ocean, 
And the laurel of the poets. 


6 


V. 


I am dark and I am ardent, 

The symbol of passion am I ; 

Filled is my soul with desire of joy, 

Me art thou calling ? Oh ! no, not thee. 

My brow is pale, my tresses are golden, 

I can pour out on thee endless delight; 

I keep a treasure of tenderness, 

Me art thou calling? Oh! no, not thee. 

I am a dream, I am the Impossible, 

Vain phantasm of mist and light; 

Bodiless am I, I am intangible, 

I cannot love thee, — Oh! come, come, thou! 


7 


VI. 


Her hand between my hands, 

Her eyes upon my eyes, 

Her head so amorously 
Resting upon my shoulder, 

God knows how many times 
With lagging footsteps, 

We have wandered together 
Beneath the lofty elm-trees 
That to her dwelling’s entrance 
Lent mystery and shade. 

And yesterday — hardly 
A year passed like a breath, 

With what exquisite grace, 

With what admirable aplomb 
She said, when an officious 
Friend had presented us: 

“It seems to me that somewhere 
I have seen you.” Oh! ye fools. 
Gossips of drawing-rooms, 

Who go about in search 
Of gallant embroglios , 

What a story you have lost 1 

8 


How savory were this food, 

To be devoured in chorus, 

Sotto voce behind the fan 
Of feathers and of gold ! 

Oh ! moon discreet and chaste f 
Leafy and lofty elm-trees! 
Walls of her dwelling, 
Threshold of her portal, 

Be silent! let the secret 
Go not forth from you ! 

Be silent, since for my part, 

I have forgotten all. 

And she — she — there is no mask 
Equal to her face. 


9 


VII. 


When o’er thy breast thou bendest 
Thy melancholy brow, 

A bruised and broken lily 
Thou seem’st to me. 

For giving thee the purity 
Whose symbol the lily is, 

As He made it, so God made thee 
Of gold and snow. 


io 


VIII. 


Know, if at times thy ruby lip?'* 

An unseen fire doth burn — . 

The soul that with the eyes .can speak, 
Can just as well kiss. with. a, .look.* 


XI 


IX. 


First Voice. 

Waves have a gentle harmony, 

Violets have an odor sweet, 

And silver mists the cool night has, 
Light and gold the day. 

Better still have I — 

For I have Love! 

Second Voice. 

Applauding voices, radiant clouds, 
Breath envious, though the foot it kiss, 
An isle of dreams where lies repose 
For anxious souls, 

Sweet drunkenness 
This — Glory is. 

Third Voice. 

A burning coal all glory is, 

Vanity a shadow that flies, 

All is falsehood, glory, gold ; 

What I adore 
Alone is truth — 

Tis Liberty ! 


12 


Thus the mariners passed by singing 
The eternal song: 

And the foam the oars threw upwards 
Fell, and smote the shore. 

Wilt thou come? they cried; and, smiling, 
Past I let them go. 

Once I went; still, I am certain 
My clothes are drying on the sands. 


13 


X. 


As from a wound one tears the steel, 

I tore my love out of my heart, 

Although I felt that life itself 
I tore away with it. 

And from the altar I had raised 
Within my soul, her image cast. 

The lamp of faith that in it burned, 

Went out before the empty shrine. 

Though firm to fight I undertake, 

Visions of her still fill my mind; 

When shall I sleep and dream the dream 
In which all dreaming endsl 


14 


XI. 


In the salon’s dark corner, 

Forgotten, sometimes, by its master, 
Covered with dust, and silent, 

The harp is seen. 

In its chords, how many notes slumber, 
As the birds sleep in the branches, 
Expecting the hand of snow 
That may awake them! 

Ah! I thought, how often does genius 
Sleep thus in the depths of the soul, 
And, like Lazarus, waits for a voice 
That shall bid it : “Arise and walk !” 


IS 


XII. 


She passed along enveloped in her beauty, 

I let her pass me by; 

I did not even turn to look at her, and yet 
At my ear something murmured : “It is she” 

Who was ’t who joined the evening to the morn- 
ing? 

I know not, but I knew 
That in a brief and fleeting summer night 
Two twilights were united, and —' “it was” 


16 


XIII. 


Why do you tell me? I know she is changeable, 
Haughty and vain and capricious, too. 

Rather than feeling from her soul, 

Water will flow from the sterile rock. 

I know that her heart is a nest of serpents, 

That no fibre it owns that responds to love. 

She’s an inanimate statue, but ah ! 

She’s so beautiful! 


1 7 


XIV. 


She wounded me from a dark hiding place, 

And with a kiss she sealed her treachery ; 

She put her arms around my neck, and thro’ 

My shoulder, in cold blood she pierced my heart. 

And joyously she goes upon her way, 

Undaunted, happy, smiling; why? you ask? 
Because no blood is flowing from the wound, 
Because the dead man stands erect. 


XV. 


As the miser guards his treasure, 
Guarded I my grief ; 

I would prove that something is eternal 
To her who swore to me eternal love. 

But to-day I seek it vainly, hearing 
Time who slew it, say: 

Oh! miserable clay, eternally 
Thou canst not even suffer. 


XVI. 


The invisible atoms of the air 
Palpitate ’round me, all on fire ; 

The heavens break up in rays of gold, 
And the earth trembles with delight. 

There floats on waves of harmony 
The sound of kisses and beating wings. 

My eyelids close— oh! what is happening? 
’Tis love that passes. 


20 


XVII. 


Whene’er the fleeting moments of the past 
My love and I recall, 

Trembling there shines upon her lashes dark 
A tear about to fall. 

At last it falls, and like a dewdrop rolls, 

As we think, she and I, 

That as to-day for yesterday, to-morrow 
We for to-day shall sigh. 


XVIII. 


Sighs are air and go to the air. 

Tears are water and go to the sea. 

Tell me, woman, when love is forgotten, 
Knowest thou whither it goes? 


22 


XIX. 


Thine eye is blue, and when thou laugh’st, 
Its gentle light recalls to me 
The morning’s tremulous brilliancy 
Reflected in the sea. 

Thine eye is blue and when thou weep’st 
The shining tears thine eye that wet 
Seem to me like the drops of dew 
Upon a violet. 

Thine eye is blue, and when a thought 
Illuming in its depths doth lie, 

It sees a lost and wandering star 
Within the evening sky. 


23 


XX. 


Dost thou wish that of this nectar delicious 
The dregs shall not be bitter? 

Oh, breathe it in, close to thy lips approach it, 
And leave it then. 

Dost thou wish we may ever keep a gentle 
Memory of this love? 

Let us love much to-day and then to-morrow 
Let us say: “Farewell.” 


24 


XXI. 


In the shining of a lightning flash our birth is, 
And still endures its brilliance when we die ; 

So short is living! 

The glory and the love that we run after 
Are shadows of a dream that we pursue, 

To wake is dying ! 


25 


XXII. 


How lives this rose, I pray that thou hast gath- 
ered, 

Thus resting on thy heart? 

Never before on earth did I contemplate 
On the volcano the flower. 


26 


XXIII. 


To-day the earth and the heavens smile on me; 
To-day the sun strikes to my inmost soul ; 

To-day I saw her — saw her — she looked at me — 
To-day I believe in God! 


27 


XXIV. 


The night came on, no refuge did I find; 

I was athirst; my tears I drank; 

I was an-hungered and my swollen eyes 
I closed, that I might die. 

I stood within a desert! Yet my ear 
Was wounded by hoarse clamor of the crowds. 
I was an orphan, poor, — the world around 
A desert was for me. 


23 


XXV. 


For a look, a world ; 

For a smile, a heaven ; 

For a kiss — I know not 

What I would give thee for a kiss! 


29 


XXVI. 


What is poetry? thou say’st, and meanwhile fixest 
On my eye thine eye of deepest blue; 

What is poetry? And canst thou ask it? 

Why, — poetry — is — thou ! 


30 


XXVII. 


A tear was trembling in her eyes, 

And on my lips a pardoning word ; 

Pride spoke — straightway her tear was dried, 
And on my lips the word expired. 

I go one way, another she; 

But thinking on our mutual love, 

I say: Why was I silent then? 

And she will say : Why wept not I ? 


31 


XXVIII. 


Gigantic waves that thundering break 
Upon remote and desert shores, — 

Wrapped in the sheet of hurrying foam, 
Bear me away with you! 

Tempestuous gusts that sweep away 
From the tall grove the withered leaves, — 
In the blind whirlwind dragged along, 

Bear me away with you! 

Storm-clouds that break the ray of light 
And blind with fire its loosened fringe, — 
Snatched swiftly in the darkening mist, 
Bear me away with you! 

Bear me away in pity, where 
Madness effaces memory. 

Bear me away ! I fear to stay 
Here with my grief alone. 


32 


XXIX. 


As in an open book I read 
Within the depths of thy dear eyes; 
Why should the lips attempt to feign 
Smiles that the eyes refute? 

Weep ! to confess be not ashamed 
That thou a little loved me once, 

Weep ! for now no one looks at us, 

See, I am a man and yet I weep. 


33 


XXX. 


I put the light aside, and on the edge 
Of the disordered bed I sat me down, 

Mute, sombre, with my eyes immovably 
Fastened upon the wall. 

How long did I stay thus? I know not: passed 
The dread intoxication of my grief, 

The light was going out, and lo! the sun 
Laughed on my balcony. 

Nor do I know, during those awful hours, 

Of what I thought or what took place in me ; 

I but remember that I wept and cursed, 

'And that within that night-time I grew old. 


34 


XXXI. 


A question ’tis of words, and notwithstanding 
Never shall you and I 
Agree together after what has happened 
With whom the fault may lie. 

Pity love has no dictionary 
Wherein one might see 
When pride is nothing else than pride alone, 
And when ’tis dignity! 


35 


XXXII. 


Thou wast the hurricane and I the tower, 

Lofty, defiant of thy power o’er me; 

Thou must have spent thyself or overturned 
me ; — 

It could not be! 

Thou wast the ocean, I the rock erect 
That firm awaits the great sea’s ebb and flow; 
Thou must have broken thyself or overwhelmed 
me — 

It could not be! 

Thou beautiful, I haughty; and accustomed, 
One to sweep all away, one not to yield ; 

Narrow the path, the shock inevitable — 

It could not be! 


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BRENTANO s 
Ellers & Stationer*, 
Fenn. Avenue. 
’• 



